A Song That Bards Don't Sing
by OnceUponAPlotTwist
Summary: The Dragonborn's story did not start on that fateful in Helgen. She had a life before that-a past she wanted to escape. She came to Skyrim as a mercenary for hire, creating a name for herself as she travels through each of its holds, and constantly running into a certain thief who makes it harder for her to live the lonely life she has led thus far. Part ONE of Legacy of the Last.
1. Like a Storm at Sea

The sun was starting to set. Krosa watched as its rays of light cast a shadow of gold onto the mountains and trees around, enveloping the world in a warm glow. Well. It was still pretty damn cold, but the thought made Krosa smile. _This is even better than Cyrodiil_. Krosa thinks as she stops to take it all in again. What should have been half a day's journey has turned into a full day, the beauty of this place almost too much for her to take in.

Once again she takes a deep breath, appreciating the crisp freshness of the air, accompanied by a pleasant and unfamiliar scent. She closes her eyes and listens to the sound of the wind rolling through the trees to her right, the running water of the river to her left, and the birds singing their last songs of the day. All she's ever heard about Skyrim was that it was a damned cold place filled with damned foolhardy barbarians. While she hasn't met any of its inhabitants, she can rightfully say that those damned people had no damned idea what they were talking about. Imperials, after all, are-

A tendril of cold sends a chill down her back, pulling her from her musings and reminding her of the steadily decreasing temperature of the evening. Krosa finds she rather enjoys the feeling, unlike the feeling of the grueling heat and the sun bearing down on her back. Unlike the sweat dripping from her face and the soreness of her every limb. Unlike the sand coursing through every crack in her armor. Unlike the blood running down her blade and the screams of pure terror. The shouts of hatred and fear.

"No," Krosa pleads. "No no no no no. Not now." She lifts her trembling hand to her head, trying to block the images. Her breath comes in ragged gasps as her lungs suddenly forget how to function. Her heart beats erratically, tearing her open from the inside. She can't stop it.

The sun blazes onto the length of her sword; slashing every neck along with the metal. The sand growing grittier with the blood of the fallen coursing through the grains. A scream for help. One she can't hear as she cuts another one down, too lost in her anger and desperation. She can only hear the sound of blades clashing. They never stood a chance.

Krosa's eyes snap open as she falls to her knees, every limb is trembling and pale. And cold. The cold seeps through her, and she focuses on it, clinging to it with all her might. She feels so hot. Too hot. She needs to get up. She needs to breathe. Breathe. Another breeze comes, enveloping her body in its silky embrace. Her muscles slowly start to relax, and she's left there once again. Alone. On the ground. Here. In Skyrim. Not there. She's not there. Not anymore. She nearly cries in relief. Maybe she does. She's not sure.

All she's aware of is the darkness. The sun's last rays of light slowly fade as it goes down, disappearing behind the mountains. Krosa gets up. She wastes no time in moving forward, determined to get away from the scene. From the panic. From her past. Her former good mood gone in an instant and replaced with a grim determination. She does not stop again, and it isn't long until the city walls come into view.

Finally. Krosa walks up to the gate, eager to fall into bed and get started on her contract. One of the guards steps in front of her, arms crossed as he levels her with a glare she assumes should have been intimidating. It lacked the desired effect.

"Hold there! Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."

 _They do that here? And I thought Imperials were greedy._ "A visitor's tax? What for?" Krosa says, cursing herself for traveling light. She doesn't have much coin on her. She used most of it to pass the border. The guard scoffs.

"For the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?" Her eyes narrow, and she can feel the irritation itching under her skin. _So. It's a scam._ The idiot gave it away. He probably expected her not to notice his slip, despite how obvious it was. Most people don't question guards, after all. For once she's glad about getting to know the Imperials of Cyrodiil and their ways of life.

Krosa levels the man with a look of her own and says "If it doesn't matter, why do I have to pay it?" She mentally smirks when she sees his face fall before he catches himself and levels a glare at her. Krosa returns it, already knowing she won't be the one to break.

The other guard steps in front of his friend, clearly exasperated. "Just let her through before someone comes around and hears her!" A second passes, then another before he breaks.

He turns to the other guard. "Fine. Unlock the gate then." He turns back to Krosa with another warning glare. _He really should work on that._ She thinks as he says "You'd better watch yourself. Folks like you don't last long here."

She rolls her eyes, walking past him before he can say anything else. As they close the gate behind her, she hears the other guard ask him what in Oblivion he thought he was doing. Krosa found the whole set up quite pitiful. _At least the Imperials knew how to set up a proper scam._ Though, it does work in her favor when one isn't as good as they think they are. One more reason to like the place. She continues walking, throwing the two guards out of her mind as she once again looks forward to falling into bed.

"I don't know you. You in Riften looking for trouble?" She is barely able to keep herself from jumping, and immediately scolds herself for letting her guard down. She didn't even notice him standing there!

"What's it to you?" Krosa asks, ready for another confrontation.

"Don't say something you'll regret. Last thing we need is some-" Deciding she doesn't care enough to hear him out, she rolls her eyes and starts walking again. "Hey! I'm not done talking to you!" He reaches out to grab her arm, but she yanks it away and places it on the hilt of her sword in warning.

"Back off."

He looks her up and down, and for a moment she thinks she'll have to fight him off. Part of her looks forward to it. It'd be nice to let loose her pent up aggravation on this brute. As soon as she thinks that, she scolds herself. She doesn't have much time to think anything else before he speaks.

"Don't do something you'll regret." He warns, before turning away to watch the gate.

What is with this town? Her contract warned her about the place, but this is just ridiculous! She keeps her guard up as she walks away, part of her certain that she'll hear him coming up behind her. He doesn't. She sighs in relief but stays alert. This town is full of annoying surprises.

The deeper into the city she goes, the stronger a terrible stench of stale water, dead fish, and sewage becomes. Krosa wrinkles her nose in disgust. _Is it always this bad, or am I just unlucky?_ The rest of the town is hard to make out, as dark as it is. But from what she can see, it seems pleasant enough. The houses here are quaint compared to the cities in Cyrodiil, made out of wood rather than stone. It isn't long until she sees a sign. Haelga's Bunkhouse. _Finally an inn._

As soon as she enters, everyone stops what they're doing to stare at her. She ignores them and takes a step towards the counter when a blonde woman wearing a dress with a dangerously low neckline comes up to her.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm just looking for a room." Krosa says, ignoring the feeling of wrongness that washes over her. The woman sighs and rolls her eyes, mumbling under her breath. Krosa thinks she hears the words "all the time" and something about "Haelga" and "the name."

"Is there a problem?"

The woman sighs. "The Bunkhouse isn't an Inn. I'd recommend goin' to the Bee'n'Barb."

"What?"

The woman barely masks the irritation in her tone as she says "This place is for the working man." Krosa can tell she's hinting at something. Suddenly it dawns on her, and she feels the blood rushing to her cheeks.

"Oh-um. I-I see…" Krosa closes her eyes in embarrassment as she tries to find words to say. She hears snickering, and her face gets even redder. _Just say something, damnit!_ She looks hard at the woman, determined not to look at anyone else in the room. She clears her throat and opens her eyes to see the woman waiting patiently with a look of sympathy in her eyes. Krosa hates it. "Where can I find the Bee and Barb?" she asks, tone harsher than she intended.

"Right across the marketplace. It's the biggest building in the area, hard to miss."

"Thanks." Krosa turns to leave, accidentally catching the eye of a man leering at her. She mentally groans in disgust and makes a quick exit. Laughter starts as she closes the door behind her. _This place is the worst_. She thinks as she makes her way to the Bee and Barb, already deciding that she will never come here again.

* * *

Brynjolf lets out a sigh as he massages his aching head. _It's getting worse_ , he thinks, _slowly but surely, the guild is running out of gold._ He glances at the numbers again, before shoving the papers away and standing up. The candles on his desk have already started to burn lower. The smell of the musty room beginning to irritate him. How long has he been here? _A few hours at least, maybe half a day, or a year._ He stretches, hoping it'll ease the soreness of his cramped muscles. It sure feels like it's been at least that long, yet somehow it seemed like it's only been a few minutes.

Brynjolf grabs the untouched cup of water from his desk that he had brought in when he started. He downs it in seconds, scrutinizing the numbers on the papers once again. _When did this start happening?_ _Why didn't we notice it sooner?_ He thinks, putting the cup down and fingering through the papers again. _There has to be an explanation or something we can do to fix this_. He throws them down when his head starts pounding even more... _What will I tell the others?_

A knock at the door halts his thoughts. "Who is it?" he grumbles, the fantasies of himself sleeping disappearing and robbing him of what was left of his good mood. If there was any left. Maybe he's just trying to be optimistic. The door opens and a head with scraggly blonde curls peaks in, big blue eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Ah! Aiden! Good to see you." _Dammit, it's Aiden. Now I'll be here for another hour at least_. The boy saunters in with a broad smile, showcasing his missing teeth and Brynjolf holds back a chuckle. _At least he's cute_. "What do you have for me today, lad?" He asks, gathering the papers into a neat pile on the desk before turning his attention to the lad.

"Ooo, yer not going to believe what happened today!" Aiden exclaims, running to the desk and plopping right on top of it and the pile of papers. Brynjolf shakes his head bemusedly. _So much for that._ He gets comfortable, sitting back down in the chair and mentally sighing. He was not in the mood for the boy's endless enthusiasm. Nor his long, drawn-out reports. "It was so awesome!" Aiden continues, oblivious to the thoughts running through Brynjolf's head. Brynjolf always was good at faking pleasantness when his thoughts were less than pleasing. He smiles warmly at the boy.

"What happened Ai-"

"Well the day started out like the usual, people coming and going and paying the-" he leans in closer, wiggling his eyebrows as he finishes with "visitor's tax," and giving Brynjolf a wink. "Why do people always fall for that anyway? Stupid I tell ya." He looks at Brynjolf expectantly.

"Absolutely." Brynjolf sighs impatiently. _Can he get on with it already?_ He's about to voice his thoughts out loud when the lad continues.

"But then this one lady came in, just as the sun was disappearing on the horizon. And my oh my, did ya see that sunset? Beautiful!" _No._ Brynjolf thought. _I was stuck in here trying to make sense of our dwindling funds._

"I'm sure it was, Aiden, but can we get to the point please?"

"Anyway," he continues, brushing Brynjolf off. "She was a mighty fine lady, seemed like some warrior or 'venturer type to me, and boy oh boy did she have some wicked scars on her face! I wonder how she got 'em! Maybe it was a bear, a pack of wolves, or a troll, or maybe a-a-a...DRAGON!"

Brynjolf rolls his eyes "Dragons aren't real Aiden."

"Are too!"

"Are not."

"I saw one with my own eyes!"

"Really? Where?"

"Well, not actually, but I DID see a drawing once in a history book, something about the birth of dragons, or how dragons git born. It said they were real!"

Brynjolf clenches his eyes shut, his headache suddenly getting even worse. He decided not to remind the lad he couldn't read, and instead went with, "Well if they were, they're not anymore. We're off topic, what happened with the scary lady?"

"Oh, she wasn't that scary." he said with a wave of his hand "But she did put Baldr in his place and practically rendered him speechless! Ohhh, you shoulda seen it!"

"How did she put him in his place?" If it's true, it is rather impressive. But still not important.

"Well, he stopped her like all the others and demanded she pay the visitor's tax all official-like, and then she's all 'What for?', and then he's all 'For the privilege of entering the city, what does it matter?' He was all cocky like, you know 'im." Brynjolf does indeed. _I'll admit I made a mistake when I recruited that one. He's as greedy as Vex, but with half the brains. Maybe less than half. Maybe I should-_ He's forced from his thoughts when Aiden snaps his fingers in his face. "Ya better not be falling asleep on me old man."

"Old man? Really?" Brynjolf said with fake, but real, agitation. He is not that old. Though, currently, his back and stiff joints would disagree. Would probably place him at sixty, rather than the thirty he is, in fact. _But that's beside the point_. Realizing Aidan's still talking, he returns his attention to the lad.

"Older than me at least, "Aiden says, shrugging innocently. "Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah! He was all 'For the privilege of entering the city, what does it matter?' And it seemed to me that she dang near believed 'im, but guess what she said?

"..."

Aiden rolled his eyes, "I said g-"

"Just get on with it!" Brynjolf snapped, his patience wearing thin.

The lad sniffed. "Well, she said 'if it don't matter, why'd I gotta pay it?' Which I think is a swell point right there, and I think he did too. I swear his face was as red as a tomata under his helmet. Then they glared at each other for a while, a battle of wills or something, and MAN does she have a scowl! I 'bout wet myself thinkin she was gunna kill 'im! That is when Grevor stepped in and told him to knock it off before the whole blasted town hears! Then he let her in, and Baldr went and had to have the last word, but I don't think she cared much." Brynjolf could relate to that.

"AND THEN" the boy continued, clearly determined to make this last as long as possible, "She walked past Maul who stopped her and tried to give his usual stay out of our business speech. But I'm willing to bet she was still all grumpy-like from dealing with Baldr. She completely blew him off! Gave 'im a warnin and walked right past 'im without givin' a second glance! And he was okay with it! And I'm thinkin' man what a woman!" he says excitedly, then dreamily states " I think she's my new hero!" he presses his hand on his chest and gazes at the ceiling. Then he was silent and still for a while, probably waiting for something. Or daydreaming.

Brynjolf waited a few seconds "Is that it?"

"Yup!" The boy said smugly, folding his arms and kicking his legs, waiting for Brynjolf to say something. All while looking mightily pleased with himself.

"Well lad, that was quite the tale." _And waste of my time_. He adds to himself.

"Oh, you should have been th-"

"Thank you for the information" Brynjolf didn't want to listen to another tirade. He fishes in his pocket and flips a gold septim to the lad, who leaps off the desk and catches it expertly. "Go to Vekel. He'll give you a nice meal for that."

"Thank ye greatly old man!" Aiden cackles as he races off. Brynjolf slides further down into his chair, groaning, and once again massaging his pounding head. It's worse now than it was before. Aiden has that effect on people. One thing he'll have to stop doing is paying his birdies for useless information. _But he's still just a kid. Not to mention, it's his only way of getting a hot meal._ Brynjolf sighs, _I'll figure something else out._ He puts out all of the candles, eyelids threatening to close already. By the time he gets to his bed, he'd already forgotten about the lad's story and the woman in it.


	2. The City of Crime and Greed

The first thing Krosa notices when she leaves the inn is that the city is not as pretty and quaint as she thought it would be. It may have been at some point, but the one before her now is rundown and grimy. There are beggars everywhere, not nearly as well taken care of as those in the Imperial cities. People are going about their business, bumping into each other and chatting. And shouting. This definitely isn't the kind of bustling city she's used to. A lot less dignified. Someone walks past her, and she groans. The stench from last night is even worse with the unsavory smells of its people added to it. Krosa just stands there and takes it all in, people passing by without a care. _Well, this is disappointing. I hope I don't have to stay long_. She enters the fray, beginning her search for the man in her contract. By the description, he should be easy to spot.

Or not. Three hours later, and she still has nothing to even go off of. The sun is high in the sky, and Krosa is starting to feel its heat. Which does not help matters. At all. She's cramped, and it's getting hard to breathe. _There's too many damn people in such a small place._ Krosa steps to the side of the marketplace, finding a corner no one is inhabiting. Her nerves are nearly frayed, and she can feel her patience wearing thin. Again. She needs to calm herself. She needs to breathe. She sighs, then breathes in and out deeply. Then again. And again. She stands there for a moment, eyes closed and face lifted towards the sun. Her eyes snap open when something crashes into her. And takes her coin purse.

"Sorry miss!" A kid yells, stepping past her. Krosa reaches out to grab him, taking her coin purse from his hand and glares. She knows that trick all too well. The kid looks terrified.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What'd it look like? I was tryin' ta rob ya!"

Krosa misses a beat, surprised by the honesty. "Why?"

"I wanted gold, that's why." She hesitates again, not expecting a thief to be so forthcoming. Krosa studies him. He's young with curly blond hair and blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His clothes suggest he's poor, possibly a beggar even. Probably has been for a while.

"Where's your family?" Krosa asks, already suspecting the answer.

"I ain't got one! Now let me go!" He pauses for a moment, before adding in a pleading voice, "Please?" When she doesn't, he scowls and tries to yank his arm out of her grasp. Unsuccessfully.

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"What is this? An interrogation?" His puts his free hand on his hip and glares.

"Maybe." She says. _The brat's got guts._ He narrows his eyes, trying to act tough. Krosa smirks and lifts one eyebrow, thoroughly amused. The staring contest goes on for a few more seconds before his stomach growls loudly. His face grows red, but he still holds her gaze. _He sure is determined._ Krosa decides she likes the kid.

"How about," she starts, watching as he gets nervous, "we continue this conversation over something to eat?" He blinks. Then blinks again and his whole face lights up.

"Really!?" He says excitedly before he pauses and looks at her suspiciously. "Wait. How do I know this ain't a trick?"

"Why would I be tricking you?"

"I tried robbin ya. Why would ya help someone who tried robbin ya? It must be a trick. Yer tryin ta get me ta-"

"Don't you think I'd just turn you in?"

He thinks for a minute, his forefinger and thumb rubbing his chin, eyes narrowed in thought. "Well," he finally says, "that's a fine point right there. Alright, you convinced me! Let's go! I know a place!" He starts walking and tugs her arm to get her to follow. Krosa lets go and trails behind him, nearly running him over when he stops suddenly. His hand flies to his forehead. "Wait, we can't go there!"

"Go where?" She asks, then after a moment adds "And why not?"

"My usual place, but they don't like strangers. How 'bout we go ta the Bee 'n' Barb instead? I ain't allowed in there all by me lonesome, but I'm sure they'd let me in if I was with you!"

"Alright. The Bee and Barb it is."

Krosa gives one last look at the people around, then enters the building with the kid who introduces himself and starts telling her the story of why he's not allowed here alone. Krosa doesn't really listen to him. He sits at a table with a smug look to the Argonian innkeeper. Krosa sits down next to him and tells him to order what he wants. The food comes out quickly, and she watches as he scarfs down two bowls of soup, making a mess as he does it.

"So, how'd ya get them scars on yer face?" The kid asks, soup spilling from his mouth and back into the bowl. He's unbothered by it and shoves another spoon full in as he looks at her expectantly.

"What?"

"I'm sure ya heard me fine the first time, so stop evadin' the question!"

Krosa didn't answer. She was too busy watching the others in the room, looking for him and trying to figure out where else she could look. Maybe she should visit a few shops. He could be there. Or she'll go into one and miss him on the street.

She gives up and looks at the kid who says "Well, they make ya look real tough."

"I got them in a fight," Krosa says, finally being able to recall what his question was.

The kid looks up, bangs his hands on the table and exclaims "I knew it! What were ya fightin? A bear? A pack of wolves? A troll? Or was it a bandit! Oooo, I bet it was a bandit!"

Krosa smiles and goes along with it. The boy's enthusiasm overpowering her want to avoid the topic altogether. "Yeah, it was a bandit."

"When was it? Where'd it happen? Oh, tell me the whole story please, please, please!"

Krosa pauses, at a loss for words. She didn't plan on having to make up a story for the kid. He's looking at her expectantly, and she can't help but try. _Here goes nothing._

"Um. Well... I was walking down the road near..." She has a panicked moment as she tries to think of a place she saw on the map, but nothing comes. _Why can't I ever remember anything when I need to!?_ She continues, not wanting to make the kid suspicious. After all, details are hardly important. "Some burial when I came across a bandit camp. They attacked, and I won." Krosa shrugs. It's embarrassing how much thinking went into that flop of a story. Storytelling never was one of her talents. Neither was talking to others if she's being honest. All things considered, she did better than she expected. Aiden clearly did not think the same.

"Aww, come on! You can do better than that!" she couldn't, actually.

"Sorry if it's not what you wanted to hear, but it's the best I got." At least that's not a lie. Mostly.

"But what about the details!?" Krosa finds herself cursing the very idea of details.

"It's hard to remember the details while you're fighting for your life." Krosa manages to say, rather proud that she can mix some of the truth into the whole conversation. And for lasting this long into it.

The boy deflates, pouting. "I guess that makes sense. Dang it all!" He sits back down and crosses his arms, ruminating. She looks around again. Still nothing. The kid might know something. Kids and beggars know all sorts of things about people. And this one's both.

"Aiden." She says, but the boy doesn't reply, probably lost in thought. She gives him a shove on the arm, amused.

"Ay! What was that for?" He asks indignantly, glaring at her.

"I have something important to ask you," she says, leaning closer and talking quieter. He follows suit, a gleam in his eyes.

"What!? What is it!?"

"You've lived here for a while, right?" He nods his head enthusiastically. "I'm looking for someone, a man named Brynjolf." Krosa watches his expression change in recognition of the name. "Do you know him?"

He narrows his eyes at her, suspicion in his gaze. "Why ya lookin for 'im?" Krosa smiles inwardly. Clearly, the kid knows him. Him not wanting to say anything about it, she finds, usually means there is crime involved. Her contract did warn her to be careful with him. Krosa thinks about what to say next, knowing the wrong thing could ruin her chances of her finding him at all. However, if it comes to it tailing the kid could be helpful.

"Why does anyone want to look for him?"

"Ohhh! I get it." he says mischievously, giving her a wink "Yer lookin ta be recruited. Gotta say I din't peg ya as the type, but what do I know anyway?" He shrugs, and Krosa suspects he actually knows quite a bit. "You'll probably find 'im in the marketplace. Good timing too, he's been lookin' for someone to recruit."

Krosa lets the breath she was holding go as relief washes over her. "I was already in the marketplace and he wasn't there."

"Oh. Well, he probably just slept in. He's been mighty tired lately. And grumpy. Turning into an old man, I tell ya. He'll get there when he gets there." He hops off the chair and holds his hand out expectantly. Krosa gives him a confused look. He rolls his eyes "Yer supposed to pay me for the information." He deadpans. Krosa smiles.

"Aren't you supposed to ask for payment before you give the information?" She asks, smirking when his face grows red. "I bought you breakfast and didn't turn you into the guards. I think that's payment enough, right?" The kid scowls, leaving his hand where it is.

"This is no time to be stingy, woman!" Krosa gives him a look, and he changes tactics, giving her a pleading one instead. She rolls her eyes, grabs a biscuit from her still full plate and drops it into his hand.

"Scram, kid." He gives her a pointed look, shaking his head, looking mightily disappointed in her. The gall. She finds herself smiling again.

"Fine," he says, then grabs more food from her plate and runs off before she can stop him. _Even the kids here are greedy._ Krosa eats what is left on her plate and walks back outside. Somehow it's even busier. She didn't know that could be possible. Krosa stops by a stall with a weapons display, a dagger catching her eye. She picks it up and inspects it. It's elven and well-maintained and seems to be enchanted with something she hasn't seen before. Krosa turns to the merchant to ask about it when suddenly she feels someone approach her and tap her on the shoulder.

* * *

Brynjolf hates mornings. He looks around as he steps into the marketplace, frowning. He pushes a lock of his ginger hair out of his face, watching the hustle and bustle. It's busier than usual. And louder. Brynjolf sighs again, the headache from the night before still there. He hasn't told anyone what he's discovered. Still doesn't understand how this came to be. _Could this really be the beginning of the end for us?_ It sure seems that way. If only he'd caught this sooner! _How did it go unnoticed for so long?_ He makes his way to the center of the action, fingers itching for something to steal.

His pockets are full in no time, and as he turns to leave, he catches a flash of red in the corner of his eye. A woman is standing at Grelka's stall, inspecting her goods, her back turned to him. He's never seen her before and wonders what took him so long to notice her standing there. Hair as deeply red as that hardly goes unnoticed, and he's always had a thing for fellow gingers. _How would one describe it?_ The only thing he can think of to compare it to would be blood, the thought bringing a rueful smile to his face. _Someone's feeling a little morbid today._ From the looks of her armor, she's some type of adventurer. Adventurers tend to be good pickings, though he just might rather start a conversation instead. They also tend to be good company, after all. Especially if they're female.

Brynjolf takes a few steps in her direction, halting when he sees her approached by another man. Hofgrir. He smiles, knowing what usually happens when Hofgrir approaches a stranger, especially when he's drunk. Brynjolf can only suspect that that is why he's away from the stables at all. _This should be good_. Turning an ear to their conversation, he maneuvers fluidly out of their vision. It also so happens that he gets a better view of her face, and remembers Aiden describing such a woman in his report last night. The lad failed to mention how pretty the lass was, despite the assortment of scars across her face. _So. She's seen her fair share of fighting. Even better._

"You look like you could hold your own in a fight. What do ya say?" Hofgrir says to the stranger, his gruff voice grating on Brynjolf's nerves.

The woman shoots him with an irritated look, clearly not appreciating being disturbed. "Say to what?" She says, voice hostile.

"A friendly brawl between me and you."

"We're not friends." She turns from him then, picking up a dagger from the stall, inspecting it. Brynjolf smirks. Hofgrir, however, is unable to take a hint.

"Loser pays the winner one hundred gold?"

"Not interested." She all but throws the dagger onto the table, placing a hand on her hip. Brynjolf notices how it rests within easy reach of her sword. She doesn't play around.

"Aww, come on! Don't tell me you're not tempted by one hundred golden septims?"

"Judging from how you approached me offering one hundred gold without a care in the world, I'd say you're pretty confident you'd win. Why would I accept knowing that?" _Pretty and smart._ Brynjolf thinks, enjoying this far too much.

"Perhaps. But aren't you just dying to prove me wrong?" Brynjolf can practically feel the irritation radiating off of her, so tangible he could slice through it with a knife. _At this rate,_ Brynjolf thinks, _Hofgrir's begging for a beating._ Brynjolf can only hope that that's what will happen. The man needs to be taken down a notch. He eyes the woman as she frowns even further, a threatening look in her eyes. She looks about ready to murder the man.

"No." She says simply, turning away. Brynjolf finds himself mildly disappointed. That is until Hofgrir reaches out and catches her arm. Still not willing to live and let live, apparently. Brynjolf is even more surprised when she punches him in the face. Hard. _And bloody fast! It came out of nowhere!_ Hofgrir cries out, falling back while clutching his eye. _Damn_. Brynjolf thinks, getting excited. _This is going to be even better than I thought!_ And suddenly, Hofgrir's laughing. Like a damned lunatic. The woman seems to be thinking something along those lines as well.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Hofgrir says, getting up with his fists at the ready. "I'll take that as acceptance." He lunges towards her with a wild punch. With not even a beat of hesitation or look of surprise, she ducks, plunging an elbow into his side. As she moves behind him her leg shoots out, sweeping his feet out from under him. Once again Hofgrir falls to the ground, this time clutching his side. Brynjolf is almost positive he heard the crack of a bone. _The lass clearly isn't the kind to pull her punches._ He stores that thought for later, watching as the woman crouches next to Hofgrir's still form.

"You done?" She asks as cool as a cucumber. Brynjolf chuckles and notices a crowd that has formed around the spectacle. He looks back at the fighters, and nearly yelps when Hofgrir's fist flies out and connects with her face, sending her sprawling onto her back. After the initial shock wears off, Brynjolf sighs, disappointed. He's seen many people get knocked out from one of Hofgrir's blows. Even took out a man the size of a bear once. The lass did good at first, really good. She moved like a mountain cat, quick and deadly. It's a shame she got cocky and let her guard down.

He watches with the others, some happier than most, as Hofgrir slowly gets up. Brynjolf feels a surge of annoyance at his smug, triumphant grin. He watches as Hofgrir looks over at the lass, his smugness turning to shock. Brynjolf follows suit, glancing at the woman to see her starting to get up. He hears the gasps from the crowd. Everyone had thought that was it for the lass. They were all wrong. Brynjolf smiles. She, however, is not so happy. If he thought she looked about ready to murder Hofgrir before, now she looks even more convincing.

Part of him wants to send a quick prayer to the Divines for the poor fellow. He's gonna need it. It's too bad Brynjolf isn't the religious sort. _How would it go anyway? Divines, please let this woman beat the crap out of that poor fellow? But not too much? Just enough to knock some sense into him? Maybe?_ He's pulled from his thoughts as he hears the crowd cheering them both on and starting to place bets. The lass has gotten quite the following. He entertains the idea of following suit but decides to just watch. There'll be plenty of money for him to take afterward, after all. Hofgrir just stands there, hand still holding his side. Brynjolf can't tell if he's just being polite and waiting for her to get up, or still in shock. One's more likely than the other. The other would just give him too much credit.

"You're a tough one aren't you?" Hofgrir says, starting to get back into his fighting stance. "Well too bad I'll-"

She moves before he finishes. Once again Brynjolf is amazed at her speed as she throws a punch to his face, followed by a knee to the gut. Hofgrir had blocked the punch but was not quick enough to defend against the knee. He doubles over, throwing a wild punch that the woman catches. Brynjolf has no time to be impressed as she then uses Hofgrir's arm to flip him over. He lands hard, and Brynjolf is sure that he heard another bone crack from the landing. The woman releases his arm, and it falls with a thud. She steps back. Hofgrir doesn't move, but Brynjolf can hear the man groaning. The crowd is silent, watching her, slack-jawed and eyes wide. She doesn't even notice, just stands there. Brynjolf bursts out laughing.

"Well done, lass!" He exclaims, clapping. "You sure taught him a lesson!" The crowd joins in on the clapping, some even shouting congratulations. They've all just witnessed the defeat of Hofgrir Horse-Crusher. It's about damn time! Brynjolf thinks and even hears others say something similar. The woman looks at him, and her gaze lingers. Brynjolf smirks. He has that effect on most women. He's about to say something more when the guards come rushing in. Once again, only after the fight is over. Brynjolf rolls his eyes knowing they plan on taking her in, crooked as they are. _Who isn't?_ He thinks smugly.

Brynjolf moves in, stopping right beside the woman. She gives him a questioning look that he waves off. "Let me handle this, lass." He whispers, then turns to the guards.

"Surely you're not planning on taking her in?" He asks.

"Of course we are. She was disturbing the peace."

"Look. We both know who started that fight, so why don't you-"

"She threw the first punch. We both saw it, Brynjolf, just let this one be."

"Well," Brynjolf says, crossing his arms, "seeing as how you did see that, why didn't you step in sooner?"

"We-"

"Were watching the fight like everyone else. I'm not the only one who saw you placing bets. Tell me, Kinnley, just how much did you lose from it?" They grumble and glare. Brynjolf smirks. The woman shifts awkwardly, looking between them. He didn't notice it before, but her eyes are golden brown. A shade he doesn't see often. _Or have I seen it before?_ He's not sure. There is something else in her eyes, some other look. Maybe it's because of the unusual color, but they look almost like-


	3. No Rest For the Weary

Krosa doesn't know what to do. She feels the tension, taught like a string about to snap. Should she say something? Her head is still reeling from the brawl. Heart still beating erratically. It's all she can do to not break down at that moment. There was a moment afterward when she heard the cheering. She thought she was back there. It was so similar. She was glad when Brynjolf spoke and broke the oncoming panic, and now she's glad that he's the one reasoning with the guards. _If it were up to me, I'd have already found myself in a cell for the night._

Brynjolf speaks up after a moment of silence, saving her from her thoughts. Again. He is definitely the man in her contract. Ginger hair, green eyes, flirtatious and crafty. But she didn't come all the way to Skyrim just to return empty-handed. The amount she'll get paid is the most she's ever gotten paid for a job. It'd be a crime to let it slip through her fingers. Krosa turns her attention to what he says next, her moment of indecision gone.

"How about we just let this one slide, eh boys?" Brynjolf says, his lilting accent laced with warning. Krosa can see the power struggle between them. It's different than the one she had with the guard at the gate, which was a plain battle of wills. The guards are taking him too seriously for a normal citizen. _Just how much influence does he have?_ She thinks, studying him. He holds himself like a noble, but his rich-looking clothes also look a little rough around the edges. Worn out and old. _A man pretending to be more than he is._ Krosa's seen plenty of those. The guards turn towards her, a warning glare gracing their features. What she can see of them at least. It's no wonder this city has so much crime. Those helmets block out most of their vision.

"We'll let ya go this time, but stay in line!" Krosa gives a small smile and nod in acknowledgment. _How do they get any respect around here?_ The guards turn to Brynjolf "And you should know your influence only goes so far. We'll remember this." They say as if it even mattered in the slightest.

"I'm sure ya will. It'd be difficult to forget a face like this." Brynjolf says, gesturing towards himself. Krosa snorts, and he gives her a look as the guards turn to leave. When they're out of earshot, he turns to her and says "Well. Wasn't that exciting?" He offers his hand. "The name's Brynjolf."

Krosa goes along with it and takes his hand. "Krosa." She says with a single shake, and lets go. He smirks. Krosa crosses her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to another. "I guess I should thank you for-"

He waves her off. "There's no need. The guards in this place are crooked, greedy fellas." _Who isn't?_ Krosa thinks, recalling all of her interactions with the people thus far.

"I've noticed." Is all she says, one hand going to her aching jaw as she wonders how she is managing to talk at all. It'll be an ugly bruise, but luckily nothing feels fractured. She glances at Hofgrir and watches when a healer takes him away.

"Well, lass, what say you to a drink?"

"A drink?" She asks, hand leaving her jaw and returning to its place across her chest.

"Yes, lass. That's what I said."

"Why?" She says, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Does a man need a reason to share a drink with a beautiful woman such as yourself?" Krosa raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. He continues with "How about to celebrate for your victory?"

"It was just a simple brawl."

"Simple!?" He was undefeated before you came! He sure does pack a punch, though, doesn't he?" He says, his hand reaching for her face. She pulls back, glaring, and he retracts his hand. He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets. "At least maybe now he'll think twice before challenging strangers…. How did you learn to fight like that anyway? If you don't mind my asking."

"Experience." He looks at her for a second as if waiting for more. He's gonna be disappointed.

"Well, I'd gathered that much already lass. I was hoping you'd be a bit more detailed."

"Maybe you should stop hoping," Krosa says, wanting the conversation to end. She needs to think of how she's going to get him out of the city. He surprises her when he barks out a laugh.

"You sure are something else." He says, shaking his head. "So. Are you interested in that drink, lass?" When she doesn't answer, he adds "My treat."

 _I need to get him alone._ Getting him drunk _would_ help. Krosa studies him, not trusting his motives. Men like him are usually looking for more than just a drink. Then again that could also help in getting him to follow her. However, there's something about him that suggests he's not all that he seems, more than just the clothes he wears and what the contract warned her about. _I just can't put my finger on it._

"I guess I could go for a drink," Krosa says. "But only one. I'm not going to let you get me drunk." She adds a small smirk for good measure. He lights up.

"One drink is fine by me! Cheaper that way anyhow." Brynjolf puts his hand on her back, pushing her along as he walks towards the Bee and Barb. Krosa stiffens, wanting to smack it away, but lets him lead her. She needs him to let his guard down. _Finding him was easy enough. I hope getting him to Falkreath will be just as easy._

* * *

It started with the splitting pain in his skull, then the sound of a crackling fire. Brynjolf groans and forces himself back to consciousness, the process annoyingly slow and excruciating. _How much did I drink last night?_ He can't remember. What he can recall is all in a blur. He groans again as he attempts to massage his throbbing head, only to find that his hands are bound. _What in Oblivion? What mess did I walk into this time?_

"You're finally awake. Took you long enough." Despite his pounding head, Brynjolf opens his eyes to see a woman sitting across the fire. All he can make out is the dark red of her hair swept over her shoulder and eyes that glowed gold with the light of the fire. Then it hit him. _The woman from the marketplace!_ He instantly remembers the brawl, the flirting, the tavern, and getting drunk. _The blasted woman tricked me!_ Brynjolf laughs then cringes as his head protests the action. _At least this time I remember what happened!_

"What's so funny?" He hears her demand, no doubt thinking it's her he's laughing at. In a way it kind of is.

"Well, lass, surprisingly this isn't the first time I've gotten drunk and woken up to find myself getting yelled at by an angry woman." She raises her eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. He's beginning to wonder if anything impresses her. "Would you like to hear the story?" Brynjolf continues, needing to buy some time to work his hands out of their binds. "It's quite the tale." One that nobody believes save for Aiden. _Though he'll believe any good story._

"You can tell me on the way. We should get going." The woman says as she gets up, and Brynjolf can tell she isn't even the slightest bit interested in hearing it. It makes him want to tell it more.

"And where would we be going, lass?" He asks, sure to keep the cheer in his voice. _Almost done!_

"Whiterun." The woman says, keeping her gaze on the fire as she puts it out. This is almost too easy.

"And why am I needed?" _There we go!_

"Not telling." She says as she walks over to him, standing a few feet away. Brynjolf shrugs.

"It was worth a shot. It's probably the usual."

"And what would that be?"

"Not telling," Brynjolf says, smirking when he sees her mouth twitch as she holds back a smile. He hopes that she won't hold a grudge for too long after he gets away, though it may be entertaining to have a woman chase him for a while. "Anyway, would you mind helping me up? I can't really do it with my hands bound behind my back," he says with a wink. She rolls her eyes and takes another step towards him. Perfect.

"Fine, but don't-" Brynjolf tackles her, and she grunts as she falls back with him on top, pinning one of her arms to his side, the other trapped under his knee. He holds the dagger he took from her sheath against her throat with his free hand. She glares. He smirks.

"Listen, lass, I don't want to hurt you. I'm going to make this nice and simple." She struggles, testing his hold on her. Brynjolf presses the dagger down harder, turning it so he doesn't draw blood. His smirk turns into a glare. She glares harder, and he has to hold back a chuckle. _She sure is charming._ He thinks, nearly forgetting that he was supposed to be making a point. "I'm going to take your sword. We're going to get up, and you're going to let me leave...without giving me any trouble. Give me trouble and my dagger will-Agh!"

Her head snaps up and connects with his nose. Blood gushes out, and his hands fly to his face, realizing too late what he did. A fist lands into his cheek, sending him off her and sprawling to the ground. She wastes no time in straddling him and placing the dagger he dropped to his neck. _Damn, she's-_

"Now it's my turn." She snarls, interrupting his thoughts, " _You_ are going to come quietly. You are going to get up, you are going to let me bind your hands, and _you_ are not going to give me trouble. If you try to overpower me, I will knock you out. If you try to run, my binding spell will electrocute you. I'm not against dragging you to Whiterun, whether it's alive and well or half-charred with your skin melting off your face. Do I make myself clear?" He entertains the idea of punching her since she hasn't pinned his arms but thinks better of it. She doesn't need to. She's gained the advantage. She's _bested_ him. He chuckles.

"Crystal," Brynjolf says, then turns his head to the side to spit out the blood he nearly gagged on. This is not how he thought the night would go. _Damned woman_.

She gets up quickly, yanking him up by his arm, his other one clutching his nose. The woman, Krosa if he recalls right, pulls him to the rope lying on the ground and uses her foot to fling it into her hand. Not once loosening her grip. Not once taking her eyes off of him. _I'd be impressed if I wasn't so pissed off._ Brynjolf reluctantly takes his hand away from his nose and lets her bind his hands, this time tying them in front of him. She's not gentle about it and makes it even tighter than before. She grabs her pack and shoves him forward. He starts walking, head aching more than ever.

They've been walking for hours. Brynjolf can see the first rays of the sun peeking over the horizon, illuminating the mist swirling through the mountains and trees. He wishes he could enjoy the view. Spring always has been his favorite time of year, but the throbbing in his nose and head has not gone away. _In fact, it's probably gotten worse._ And there's the fact that Krosa's pace doesn't allow him to dawdle. _It must have rained recently_. Brynjolf muses as he steps into a mud puddle. He loves the rain. If it was any muddier, he'd entertain the idea of lobbing mud at his captor's head. All in good humor, of course.

Brynjolf's gaze falls on the woman walking next to him, just a step behind. He's been studying her since their scuffle and is still struggling to piece everything together. She's most likely a Breton with her slightly pointed ears and hints of elven features, and she's clearly not from Skyrim. She seems too unused to the ways of its citizens. _Of course, it may just mean she hasn't gotten out much, but I doubt that's the case considering what she does for a living._ Her accent tells him she's not from High Rock either, but it also tells him nothing of where she's from. It sounds like there are traces of the Alik'r accent, but it's too slight to say anything for sure.

She doesn't wear anything distinguishable, just a mismatch of different armors, though there is more of an Imperial look to it. It also seems to be enchanted, but it's well hidden. Her sword and shield also carry the same sheen, but the enchantment on them must be stronger. Either she's a talented mage, or she has enough money to buy such expensive clothing from merchants. _Considering that she's good at what she does, it wouldn't be too hard to afford it_. She completely destroyed Hofgrir which is a feat of its own and has no qualms about tricking him and taking him to whoever hired her. _I regret helping her in the first place. I should have just let the damned guards lock her up. It would have saved me a headache. And a broken nose._

Brynjolf brings a hand up to his swollen nose, lightly touching it and cringing. _Why do I keep doing that!? It's not like knowing what it looks like would make it any better_. At least the damned woman gave him a wet cloth to wash the blood off. _What a saint._ He thinks sarcastically, refusing to acknowledge that if he were in her shoes, he wouldn't have done so. He's not in the mood to be anything but pissed off. Brynjolf turns his focus to the woman responsible. Her name is also odd. _Krosa_. He doesn't even know where that could have come from. He surfs his mind for anything else he can pick apart when he feels a hand on his arm. He sighs, irritated. _What does she want now?_ He turns and is surprised to see her looking at him with what he would call mild concern. Interesting.

"I can help fix your nose if you'd like." She says. Brynjolf was not expecting that. He just stands there stupidly for a few seconds, making sure he heard her right.

"I'm sorry, lass, what did you say?" She looks away and stops walking. He follows suit. Her hand rubs the back of her neck as she says "Your nose...I-I said I could help fix... it." Brynjolf eyes her suspiciously. _She can't be serious._ Before he can say anything, she adds "I just think it would help us go faster. I mean, it...it's clearly broken, and you're moving slowly-"

"You're new at this aren't ya lass?" Brynjolf says, interrupting her before she can stammer anything else out. Though it is rather endearing. And unexpected. All traces of her awkwardness are gone as she levels him with a glare.

"The offer expires in three seconds. If you don't-"

"Alright then," Brynjolf says, not one to miss out on a golden opportunity. At the moment he wants nothing more than to alleviate the pain and stop it from swelling into twice the size it should be.

"Have you tried setting it back into place yet?" She says, studying his nose with a look of disapproval.

"I'm no healer, lass." She looks at him like he's the stupidest person in the world.

"You've never had a broken nose before?" She asks incredulously, looking as if she can barely believe it.

"As a matter of fact, lass, no I have not. Why? Does that surprise you?"

She ignores him and digs in her pack, though he's sure he saw her roll her eyes and mutter something under her breath. She pulls out a tin, opens it, and hands it to him.

"What's this?" Brynjolf asks, taking it from her.

"It's a cream that eases swelling and numbs the area." He shoots her a questioning look.

"I've never heard of such a thing. Where did you get it? Are you sure it works?" He wonders if she bought it from someone who made the thing up just to get money. _Not a bad idea_. She gives him a look. He just shrugs, too lost in thought about how one would go about selling fake potions and remedies.

"I bought it in Cyrodiil. It's rather new, but growing in popularity. I think they get it from High Rock." She says, and he can hear a trace of annoyance in her voice. "And yes it works."

Brynjolf nods, taking in the information. It makes sense that something like this would come from High Rock. Bretons from there aren't known for their fortitude. And the Empire is known to be wealthy, as this probably costs a fortune. It also explains why he's never heard of it. Skyrim and the Empire are not on good terms, with the civil war and all. He also can't help but notice that that was the most she's said to him in any of their conversations. _Why would she be letting me use some of it anyway? She won't be able to get anymore here. Unless she doesn't plan on staying here long._

Brynjolf puts it under his nose. It smells like mint and mud. _At least it's not too horrid._ He gathers some on his fingers and applies it to his nose. The effect is immediate. His nose burns with a cold and prickling sensation, making him want to sneeze. His eyes water, and it's all he can do to resist the strong urge to touch it. It feels like it's going to fall off! Krosa smirks.

"It'll die down soon." She says, taking the container from his hand. He loathes the humor in her voice. "When it does, I'll set it back in place then you can drink this." She says, handing him a potion bottle.

"What's that?" He asks, not sure he trusts anything else she'll give him.

"A healing potion." Brynjolf eyes her suspiciously but takes it. She's enjoying this way too much. Before he knows it, the pain suddenly subsides, and he can no longer feel his nose. He tells her as much, and she moves to set it. "Hold still."


	4. Walking Blindly

Brynjolf never wants to do that again. The cream took away most of the pain, but the feeling of the bones moving will haunt his dreams. He shivers in disgust as he drinks the potion Krosa hands to him. _Should I thank her?_ Brynjolf thinks as he eyes the woman standing awkwardly before him. _She is the one who broke it in the first place._ He doesn't let himself make the point that if he were in her position, he wouldn't have done the same. It's contrary to what he wants to be feeling at the moment.

Neither of them say anything, and they start walking as if nothing happened. Despite his grudge, Brynjolf makes a point to walk faster than before. It's almost shameful how badly he wanted to do the opposite. He comforts himself with the thought that the quicker they walk, the quicker this will all be over. Whoever hired her should be easy enough to get away from. _Easier than trying to escape this woman's gaze at the very least._

He looks at her again, more confused now than ever. She's intimidating and talented for sure. He already knew that. What Brynjolf didn't know was why she'd offer to help with something anyone else in her place would have looked over. Why would she care about her prisoner's comfort and well being? Does she have to get him there unharmed, was she just being nice, or was she really just irritated with how slow he was going? Then there's the added evidence to her clearly not being any good with social interactions. He thinks back to the marketplace, and their chat while drinking. _Is she shy?_ Unlikely. _Does she just not care?_ More likely. He then thinks of their most recent conversation and her penchant for stuttering. That information makes no sense mixed with everything else he knows. Or doesn't know. He feels another headache coming on. He's never had this much problem with anyone. _I just can't get a good read on her!_ He'll figure this damned woman out if it kills him. So, with fake cheer in his voice, he says

"So, lass, where did you learn how to do that?"

"How to do what?"

"Surely you know what I mean." He says matter of factly, hoping to incite an actual reaction out of her.

"Believe it or not, it's not a rare skill to have."

"You still must have learned it from somewhere."

"That _is_ the way it usually goes." Brynjolf can hear the irritation in her voice but continues anyway. He's nothing if not persistent.

"Don't be a spoilsport! Someone like you must have lots of tales to tell. I have an open ear if you want to share any."

"I don't."

"You're not one for conversation, are ya lass?"

"..."

"Point taken." He says, smiling to himself. "Don't worry. I have some good ones worth hearing. Who knows, maybe you'll even laugh at a few of them." She gives him the same look she gave Hofgrir in the Marketplace. It was scary then, and it would be even scarier now. However, Brynjolf realizes that he actually quite enjoys it. _This is going to be fun._

* * *

 _Why did I offer to fix his nose?_ They've been walking for a few hours since then, and he's been non stop chattering and asking questions. Krosa sighs in frustration. What came over her? Guilt? It wasn't even her fault! He's the one who started it. Now he'll never take her seriously.

"Did ya hear what I just said, lass?"

Krosa ignores him. She humored him at first. Barely. She purposefully gave curt answers to discourage him from talking, but he didn't take the hint. Krosa knows that he's doing it just to irritate her. _Or he's trying to find out anything he can use against you._ He must use his charm, good looks, and friendliness to get people to let their guard down before he strikes. He has to be baiting her, studying her. He has a cunning way about him, his emerald green eyes gleaming in just the right, or wrong, way. _I guess I'll just have to be extra careful not to give him anything to go off of._ It must drive him mad. She never was the most cooperative or forthcoming. She smirks.

"Was that a smile? Should I take that as a yes?" He says in his annoying, lilting accent. "I'll take your silence as a yes as well. Good to know." Krosa mentally groans. She doesn't even know what he's talking about anymore. _What does he think I agreed to?_

"Well well well, look what we have here!" Krosa stops. _That wasn't Brynjolf_. She can feel him tense beside her as well, and they both look to where the voice came from. A man emerges from behind a boulder, and more come out from the trees around her and Brynjolf. They're surrounded. _Damnit._

"Well, shit." She hears Brynjolf mutter, just loud enough for her to hear. She scowls. If this turns into a fight, it'd be the perfect opportunity for him to run. And she can't trust that he won't turn on her either. This is _not_ good. The bandit leader takes a few steps closer, stopping just out of reach if she chose to lunge at him.

"You picked a bad time to get lost, friend." He says in that stupid, cocky, nordic accent of his. Krosa hurls a string of curses at him mentally before speaking up.

"I'm not lost." It was all she could do to keep her hand away from her sword.

"You sure look lost to me. With enough coin, I could be persuaded to point you in the right direction."

"No need. I am going in the right direction."

"If you could just step aside and let us through, that'd be all the help we need," Brynjolf adds, catching the bandit leader's attention.

"Hey, I know you. Brynjolf, right? Man what a sight! It seems your thieving days are over. I have half a mind to applaud the fair lady here and escort her to wherever she's taking you."

"I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Not particularly. Though you have met my wife. More than once, that cheating bitch!" Krosa feels Brynjolf cringe and resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Have I? I can't be sure. What was her name again?"

"I'll cut out that smart tongue of yours and throw it on her grave!" He shouts, taking a step forward and drawing his blade. Krosa places her hand on hers, wishing Brynjolf would stop talking already.

"I-well...that's unexpected." Was all Brynjolf says, and Krosa wants to punch him. The bandit cries out in anger and lunges wildly. Krosa kicks the sword out of his hand and elbows him in the face. He falls to the side with a grunt.

"Do you have a death wish?" She asks Brynjolf, but before he can say anything, the bandit speaks up.

"I'll give ya one chance, girly" He rubs his jaw and getting up "leave us with him, and you can be on your way." Krosa looks at Brynjolf. _Together we have a better chance of taking them_. But can she trust him? He must have read her mind, and gives a small nod. _I don't have much choice._ Krosa looks back to the bandit leader who is now on his feet within striking distance.

"No." Is all she says before slashing him through the stomach. He falls. She tosses a dagger to Brynjolf and pulls out her shield to block an arrow. She arcs a chain of lightning at the shooter and sees a dagger fly into the heart of the other one. She hears running steps behind her and turns, shield up. A sword bounces off it with a crackle of electricity. Her sword hits flesh. The rest is a blur.

* * *

Brynjolf catches the dagger expertly and cuts his binds. He turns to the archers and sees one taken down by a bolt of lightning. _So, she knows more than one spell_. He manages to think before throwing his dagger at the other and ducking as a bandit with a mace tries to decapitate him. Brynjolf trips him and takes a dagger out of his sheath that he throws at another bandit coming his way, glad that they lack any sort of finesse. Their battle cries defy the purpose of surprise attacks.

The mace bandit lunges at him, only to be frozen in place. Brynjolf looks over to Krosa and watches as she turns to take on three of them at once, working like a storm. Every swing with her sword perfectly controlled, every hit rewarded with a scream as the victim is encased in fire, every block with her shield crackling and sending sparks up the sword and arm holding it. She moves through them and the next group like she was slicing through butter. He's never seen a fight like this, someone who _could_ fight like this, and realizes that his mouth is gaping open. He closes it. The sound of ice cracking brings him back to his senses, and he remembers that he's in this fight too.

Brynjolf wastes no time in taking the bandit's mace and whacking him in the face with it. _Oh. I can see why people would use this. That felt good._ He takes out one more bandit that didn't make it to Krosa yet as she takes down the last one near her. She looks around, looking for survivors before she turns to him. He walks up to her, unable to hide his amazement.

"Well, lass, color me impressed! That was-" He sees movement behind her and spots an archer in the trees aiming for her. "Look out!" Brynjolf lunges at her, shoving her out of the way. Pain blossoms in his shoulder, and he falls to the ground, cursing. Krosa is quick to react, sending a spear of ice at the archer. Brynjolf doesn't even need to see it to know that it reached its target. He sits up, and she crouches down beside him, looking agitated. She moves his hand away from the area as she inspects the area.

"It's not poisoned at least, and it's hit nothing vital. From what I can tell." She all but grumbles. _What's her problem?_ Before he can say anything, she asks "Do you want to pull it out, or do you want me to?"

"Are you sure that's a good ide-Ah!" He shouts as she yanks the arrow out and replaces it with a wad of cloth he didn't even notice she had.

"Hold that there." She says as she starts rummaging through her pack again. He does as she says.

"You-"

"Take off your shirt."

"Lass, if you wanted to see me naked, you could have-"

"I need to disinfect and bandage your wound. Unless, of course, you want to bleed out." Brynjolf relents, taking off his shirt as carefully as he can, cringing as more blood seeps out of the wound. _How was this a good idea?_

"You're no fun." Brynjolf manages to get out, not wanting to let on how much pain he's actually in. He can't remember ever actually being shot before. Stabbed sure, but that's not the same. Right?

Krosa ignores him and tears his hand and cloth away from the wound, pouring the alcohol onto it, and dabbing at it with another cloth. Brynjolf groans in pain. He's not enjoying this. At all. Not only is she not giving him the time of day, but she is NOT gentle. He is pulled from his aggravated thoughts when an itchy feeling spreads where the wound is. _What the_ \- Brynjolf looks down to see her glowing hand hovering over the wound, and the skin slowly knitting back together. Her face scowling in concentration. He finds himself even more irritated.

"Why didn't you do that earlier?"

"I had to disinfect it first." She says in that voice that makes him feel like an idiot. She takes her hand away from the wound, grabbing the bandages to start wrapping the wound, not the least bit bothered or thrown off by his lack of shirt and their closeness.

"I know that! I meant with my nose. You could have-"

"I couldn't have done anything. I only know a little bit of healing magic. Healing broken bones is different from skin. The most I can do is barely close a wound to stop the bleeding. The inside damage is still there, and you can reopen it if you're not careful. That's what the bandage is for." She finishes bandaging him and looks at his nose. "At least your nose is still in place."

"You sound so disappointed." She ignores him and puts all the supplies away before standing up and handing him his shirt. He puts it on eagerly, careful not jostle his wound too much. Brynjolf gets up, watching her closely as she looks around at the bodies around them with a look on her face that he can't quite place. Then he notices her own injuries and says

"You're not going to heal yourself?" Not that he's concerned. He's just looking for conversation.

"No. They're not serious." Brynjolf stands there awkwardly for a moment before saying

"We should get going, right lass?" Krosa looks at him with a strange look on her face, and tries and fails to say something. "Unless, of course, you want to loot the bodies first," he adds. A moment passes, then another before she speaks.

"Why haven't you run?"

"What do you mean?

"You could have run at any time now. Why didn't you?"

"Well, the binding spell is still in place, lass, at least as far as I can tell." She blinks a few times, confusion on her face before she says

"Oh. Yeah. That." His eyes narrow, but before he can say anything, she continues "Then why did you help me? You could have just as easily sat and watched."

Brynjolf shrugs. "Would you believe me if I said it was the noble thing to do?"

She scoffs.

"Does it really matter?" Brynjolf asks, growing uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He's never liked it when people study him, and the look she's giving him makes him feel as if she can see right through him.

"It does to me." Is all she says.

He hesitates for a moment, before saying "Alright then. My chances of survival were higher with you alive. If you had died, I'd have had to fight them off myself. Seeing as how my hands were bound and I had no weapon, that would not be a desirable situation." She doesn't say anything. "Plus I hate bandits." he adds "They're dirty, greedy, mangy fellas. Especially those ones. I'm willing to bet that one guy is the reason why his wife's dead."

She's silent for a second longer, studying him, before saying "You can go."

It takes a few moments. "Did I hear you right, lass? I could have sworn you said you'd-"

"Let you go." She finishes for him, nodding. "You heard right."

A few more seconds pass as he stands there, letting it sink in. "Is this a trick?"

She rolls her eyes. "Why would it be a trick?"

"You haven't deactivated the binding spell yet. I annoyed you with my chatter, and now you want me to run off and get shocked to Oblivion so you can drag me the rest of the way in peace and quiet." She snorts, shaking her head and he can swear she almost smiled. Maybe even laughed. "Well?" He adds, glad to finally have a good reaction out of her. "Are you going to keep me waiting in suspense all day lass?"

She looks to the ground, her hand rubbing the back of her neck as she says "There umm-there kind of wasn't-I-"

"Don't tell me you made it up!" Brynjolf exclaims, mind going back to his previous mention of it and her stammering now. Did I really fall for that? Or am I misunderstanding- He looks at her face, and it's written all over it. "I can't believe it. I-you-I actually fell for that?" Brynjolf laughs, ignoring the pain from his nose.

She doesn't say anything, just stands there looking uncomfortable.

"Magical knowledge never was my strong suit." He says, laughter dying down. She crosses her arms, shifting her weight as she scowls at a point behind him. "That's the second time you've bested me in one day, lass. I'm impressed."

She shrugs. "Maybe my skills have nothing to do with it. Maybe you're just not as good as you thought you were."

Brynjolf lets out a surprised bark of laughter. "No bark, all bite!" He says, laughing again. When he gets ahold of himself, he continues "But I'll admit I may have gotten a little rusty. Not enough field work lately." _Maybe that can be changed._ He's been itching to steal something, pick a pocket, anything other than going over reports and worrying over numbers. _This is the first time in a long time that I've left Riften. It's refreshing._ And the company's not so bad either, so long as he doesn't get on her bad side.

A wolf howling brings him out of his thoughts, and he realizes he's just standing there. By the look on Krosa's face, she's waiting for him to leave. _Why haven't I?_ Something like this has never happened to him before. Then, he realizes why he hasn't moved yet. There's a question burning in his mind.

"Well, lass, now I have a question for you." The arch of her brow tells him to go on. "Why are you letting me go?"

She grimaces, and he holds back a laugh. "Does it matter?" She says, and he doesn't fail to notice the similarity in their answers.

"Just trying to satisfy my curiosity, lass. I answered you, now it's your turn. That's how things go around here."

The annoyed look she gives him is golden, but she answers. "You possibly saved my life back there. I don't like feeling indebted to people."

Brynjolf nods. "Fair point, lass, but what about your contract? You don't seem like the type to blow them off."

"That's my problem." She says curtly. He takes the hint. Mostly.

"What if I told you of an idea I have?"

"Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like this?"

Brynjolf grins. "We could pull one over on your contractor. You take me there, get the gold, leave me with a means of escape, and we can meet up somewhere to split our newfound fortune. And," he adds, "possibly do some celebrating?"

She smirks and actually seems to consider it for a moment, He's about to get his hopes up when she just says "No."

"Why not?" he says, more disappointed than he'd like to admit. "It's a golden opportunity, lass."

She shakes her head, a small smile gracing her features. "You should leave before I change my mind about letting a hoodlum like you go."

Brynjolf mocks hurt, hand going to his chest. "You wound me, lass. I'm more than just a common hoodlum! What I do requires finesse and-"

"One more word and I'll change my mind."

He starts backing up, not wanting to take the chance that she's serious, her being hard to read and all. "Well, lass, we wouldn't want that! I quite enjoy my freedom." Brynjolf turns, waving a goodbye as he walks away.


	5. Memories of Forgotten Days

"Short story is, he got away." Krosa says, and after a moment adds "Sorry."

"You didn't go after him?"

"I wasn't able to." Krosa mentally cringes. _Why can't I be better at this?_ She was rehearsing what she'd say the moment Brynjolf left. This was not what she rehearsed.

The hooded Dunmer woman sighs, shoulders sagging. Krosa tries not to feel sorry for her. Or herself. She wasted all this time with nothing to show for it. And she doesn't even know why the woman wants Brynjolf in the first place. For all she knows she could have let a murderer run free, though he hardly seemed like one. But he was definitely a criminal of some sort. Most likely a thief. She'd only heard a little about the Thieves' Guild in Riften, but that is what would make the most sense. The woman speaks up.

"I don't know why I thought another one of you mercenaries would work. How hard is it to get one man? I should have hired an actual bounty hunter."

"..." Krosa's eyebrow raises.

"I didn't mean any offense. I just-I just thought that this would be it." The woman says, her soft voice tinged with defeat.

Krosa shrugs, shoving down her annoyance. "Doesn't matter if you did, I'm not in a place to question your judgment. I failed."

"I hired you because they said you never fail."

"Well, does anybody advertise when they do?" Krosa says, almost sure that it earned her a glare. She's getting tired of this conversation. She had hoped all she would have to do was say she failed, then be on her way. But for some reason, she finds herself rooted to the spot.

"What happened?"

"What?"

"How did he get away? I told you to be careful, I-"

"I was," Krosa says, a little too defensively. She takes a breath, then continues. "On the way here we were ambushed by bandits. Turned out he had beef with one of them and couldn't keep his mouth shut. A fight broke out, and he got away. Part of me thinks he set it all up. Either that or we're just that unlucky."

The woman sighs again, her hand going to her forehead. For a moment Krosa thinks she's about to cry and is relieved when she doesn't.

"I would try again, but he'd be ready this time."

"No. No, it's-"

"Maybe you should try a different approach," Krosa suggests, wondering why she's suggesting anything at all.

The woman scoffs. "Maybe I should. I guess I'm just getting desperate. It's been so long."

Krosa tries not to, but she just can't help it. "Why are you so intent on getting him anyway?"

"It's a long story. And none of your business." _That's fair_. Krosa thinks, kicking herself for her curiosity. It shouldn't-It doesn't matter. _This has nothing to do with me!_

"Well," Krosa says, "I should be leaving. I'm sorry I wasted your time." She turns to leave.

"Wait!" Krosa stops and the woman continues. "Is there-Do you have any information on him or the city that you could give me? Anything could help."

"I-" Krosa says, scouring her brain for anything that sticks out. "Umm. I'm not sure, but I think-I'm guessing he's part of the Thieves' Guild there. I had heard that they're a strong presence in the city, even having the guards in their pockets. I didn't really get that feeling all too much… I mean they were clearly crooked, but there was-he was talking with some guards. It seemed like they were taking him too seriously for a plain citizen, but also they were-"

"Not respecting him enough?"

Krosa nods. "That sounds right, or at least mostly right. Maybe. It was hard for me to put my finger on what was going on between them. I'm sorry, but that's all-"

"No! That actually helps. Thank you." She gives Krosa a coin purse. "Here, take this."

"You're going to pay me for that?"

"It's not the total we agreed on. I'm not that nice. But you did come all this way and gave me something to go off of. The last one made a deal with him and tried to pull one over on me."

Krosa resists the urge to roll her eyes. "Tried to?" She says, unable to stop the small smile from forming.

The woman shrugs, smirking. "I'm not as helpless as I look."

Krosa smiles. "I don't doubt that." She says as she takes the coin purse. "Thank you."

"It was a pleasure doing business with you." Krosa nods and leaves the Inn, hoping there is still a shop or merchant's stall open this late so she can sell what she picked up from the bandits. She should get a decent price for some of it at least. Some people are walking about and talking with their neighbors, others closing their shops as the sun disappears on the horizon. _This is actually kind of nice_. Krosa thinks as she steps into one of the only shops still open. Gray Pine goods. _It's a better name than 'Dead Man's Drink.'_ Krosa thinks of the Inn, wondering how that name gets them any customers. She has half a mind to set up camp just outside the city, but caves. After bartering her goods she heads back to the Inn and gets a room, putting an enchantment on the door so it won't open for anyone but her. She falls asleep almost as soon as her head hits the pillow.

* * *

"Where in _bloody damnation_ have you been?" Delvin asks, as drunk as always. Brynjolf has to stifle a groan. He was hoping he could avoid this and go straight to bed. _I shouldn't have come in through the Ragged Flagon._ He doesn't know what would have been worse, the unholy sound of their 'secret' entrance, or getting through a conversation with a drunk Delvin. "You look like you were dragged through Oblivion and back!" Delvin continues, interrupting his thoughts. _I may as well have been._

"Mercer's been lookin' for ya!" A young voice adds. "He was mighty angry when ya didn't give 'im some paperwork then disappeared without a trace."

"Aiden? You're still awake?" Brynjolf asks, not actually surprised. Delvin had taken a liking to the kid, unlike the rest of the guild. And Aiden, always the attention lover, would take advantage of it to its fullest. Just like Brynjolf taught him. Mostly. He still has more to learn. _He's anything but subtle._

"Yep. So is Mercer. If I were you, I'd hightail it over there." Delvin says before bringing his tankard to his mouth and chugging it. Brynjolf sighs and turns to leave, cursing his luck. He had hoped he could wait till morning to go over the numbers. That's its own headache.

"Good luck!" Aiden calls to him, then turns to Delvin to say something while snickering. Brynjolf doesn't hear what they say as he goes to gather the papers. The makeshift office in his room seems even darker and grimier than when he left it. Or it's just his foul mood. His shoulder aches, his nose feels like it's stabbing him, and his pounding head only got worse on his walk over here. And he's exhausted. He's sure that if given the time, he'd find other things wrong, but he goes straight to Mercer's room and knocks on the door. _The sooner I get this over with, the better._

"Who is it!?" Mercer shouts, tone as hostile as always.

"I heard you were looking for me?" Brynjolf chirps. The door opens to a scowling Mercer. As always. _I have to stop doing that_. "I have the report," Brynjolf says, a bit more seriously.

"And?"

"It's not good." Mercer steps aside, opening the door more to let him in.

"It better be something terrible. If you woke me up for something stupid, we're going to have a serious problem."

Cursing Delvin, Brynjolf says "Don't worry, it's not."

"Then what is the problem?" Brynjolf hands him the papers.

"See for yourself."

* * *

"Please come inside, miss. I don't have any money, but my wife is doubtless cooking something...well...edible!"

"No, it's fine really-"

"It's the least we can do after you saved us from those bandits!" The farmer says, giving his young daughter a one-armed hug.

"Actually, I really need to get going." Krosa has wasted enough time as it is, despite not actually having anything in particular that she needs to get back to.

"That's hogwash, and you know it!" The little girl states, surprising Krosa. That's the first thing Krosa heard her say since she happened upon them on the road, a bandit threatening to slit the girl's throat if her father didn't pay some sort of toll they had made up.

Krosa doesn't know how, exactly, it happened, but suddenly she's at their dining room table waiting for the soup to finish cooking.

"And this one's name is Ellagard." The little girl says, holding up a corn husk doll wrapped in a dress made out of what looks like scraps of a sack dyed with berries, before putting it next to the pile of similar dolls she has.

Krosa nods, not wanting to show too much interest, but also not wanting to hurt her feelings.

"Now now, Hilda," the girl's mother says "I'm sure our guest doesn't need to be introduced to all of your little friends."

"Of course she does!" Hilda shouts like it's the most obvious thing in the world. She grabs one shaped like a horse. "If we're going to play together she'll need to know all of their names!"

"I doubt she'll be in the mood to play, honey. After supper, I'm sure she'll just want to sleep."

"I've got the shed all made up for you. It's not a luxurious Inn, but it's what we have." The father says, coming in just then and slamming the door behind him. _Did they plan this or something?_ Krosa thinks, getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. He sits across the table from Krosa and starts unlacing his boots.

"Oh no, I-" One look from the mother shut her up quickly. "Thank you," Krosa says instead. The woman nods in satisfaction and gives the soup one last stir before announcing that it's done. Hilda is quick to throw her dolls back into her room before running over and sitting next to Krosa.

A few hours later, Krosa was lying on a bed made of straw, looking up at the sky that she could see through the cracks in the ceiling. _That wasn't so bad._ She thinks, before turning over onto her side and looking at the doll Hilda placed there, trying to remember its name. Hilda nearly decided that she'd spend the night in the shed as well, but luckily her parents wouldn't have it. She closes her eyes. _I wonder what it's like._ She muses, before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

"No," Gallus says, "not like that." He adjusts the dagger in Brynjolf's hand. "You're holding it too tight, and your stance is all wrong." Gallus nudges Brynjolf's small feet into the right place. "Now try."

Brynjolf readies the dagger behind his head, eyeing the tree that's serving as his target.

"Are you going to throw it any time soon?" Gallus asks after a while, and Brynjolf's arm starts to tremble from not moving an inch.

"I'm calculating the distance and deciding how hard to throw it," Brynjolf says, desperate to earn the old man's approval. _That's bound to do the trick._

"Is that what you're doing? You're not worried that you'll miss it completely like last time?"

"Last time wasn't my fault."

Gallus chuckles. "Ahh, yes. That squirrel sure did ruin everything, didn't he?"

Brynjolf nods and finally throws the dagger. It went right in the direction of the tree but bounces off when the hilt hits the tree. He hurls out a string of curses.

Gallus laughs. "Be patient. You'll get it eventually." He says, messing up Brynjolf's hair.

"I want to get it now!" Brynjolf swats Gallus's hand away and marches over to the dagger, picks it up, and marches back. Gallus takes it from his hand. "Hey!" Brynjolf exclaims.

"That's enough for today."

Brynjolf jolts awake, heart pounding. _Why was I dreaming of that?_ He thinks, getting out of bed and pouring himself a cup of water. It's been a long time since he's dreamt anything. He puts the cup down and massages his temple, glad that the headache finally died down. He thinks back to the night before. It's almost as if he could physically feel the weight lifting from his shoulders. _I'm glad Mercer decided to take over going through the numbers and reports. I can start doing more fieldwork._ Brynjolf thinks, remembering his conversation with Krosa and smirking ruefully. Someone knocks at the door.

"Who is it?" He calls out, wondering what time it even is.

"It's me, old man! Let me in!" Aiden shouts, banging on the door some more. Brynjolf sighs, and goes to unlock it. The door swings open, narrowly missing Brynjolf's face as the boy charges in and flops onto his stomach on Brynjolf's bed, grinning.

"What do you want Aiden?"

"Boy oh boy do I have a story for you! I couldn't tell ya before cause ya were gone then I was with Delvin, then you were with Mercer, then you were sleeping, and I was sleeping, but we're both awake and present now! I promise it's a good one!" He exclaims, his feet kicking excitedly behind him, head resting on his hands. Brynjolf sighs again, ready to kick him out when an idea forms in his mind.

"Hey Aiden, how would you like to become my protege?" Aiden's feet stop. Brynjolf's sure his breathing did as well before Aiden sits up suddenly.

"Really!? Do ya mean it!?" He shouts excitedly, nearly vibrating from excitement.

"I do, lad, I've got more time on my hands now and-"

Aiden runs over, throwing his arms around Brynjolf. "Finally! I've been waitin' for someone to ask me that!"

Brynjolf chuckles, his hands going to the boy's shoulders. "We can start right now if you want."

Aiden gasps in excitement and lets Brynjolf go. "Oh man oh man oh man!" He says, jumping up and down, before suddenly stopping. "Wait! I was going to tell you a story!"

Brynjolf holds back a groan. "Are you sure you-"

"It's another one about that scary but nice lady who was here a few days ago. She was looking for ya." That gave Brynjolf pause.

"Oh really?" He says, a smile forming. "Well, in that case, spare no detail."


	6. As Time Goes By

"So, why are you leaving again?" Sinding asks, throwing a bone to Barbas who catches it expertly in his mouth.

"I've spent too much time here. That's all." Krosa says, fingering her own food, no longer having an appetite. Watching Sinding eat a raw animal is not for the faint of heart. _At least he hasn't eaten any people recently._

"What she means is she's going to turn down the Jarl's offer of becoming Thane and hightail it out of here before he backs her into a corner and forces her to agree," Barbas says, looking up from the bone.

"Did you read that letter!?" Krosa asks, annoyed. Barbas goes back to chewing his bone. _So he's a dog that can talk and read._ Great _._ "And even if he did come after me, I wouldn't agree to it. I've only been here for a month. He can find someone else who's been here longer to do his dirty work." She adds, resenting the idea of someone forcing her to do anything.

"Is that why you accepted every job he or anyone else in Falkreath gave you? Even that of a poor lost dog?" Barbas retorts, this time not even bothering to look at her as he says it.

"I'm a mercenary. I do it for money."

"Is that why you decided to spare me and turn against a daedric prince?" Sinding asks.

Krosa glares at him.

Sinding holds his hands up in surrender. "Which I am grateful for, despite having to live in this cave for the rest of my life." He adds bitterly.

"Oh please," Barbas says to him, "You could leave if you wanted to."

"I can't. I don't know if I can control the lycanthropy. I'm a danger to everyone."

"Except when you're around us, apparently," Barbas says. Krosa rolls her eyes as the two of them start arguing again. She takes a bite out of the rabbit leg, before throwing it at Barbas.

Krosa gets up. "I leave tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me," Barbas says, attacking the food.

"You're not going to go with her?" Sinding asks, surprise evident in his voice. Krosa tries not to roll her eyes. _For all their talk of hating each other, they sure do like to spend a lot of time together._

"She's not my master." Barbas says in between bites "My master refuses to see reason which means I can do whatever I want until he changes his mind."

"So you'll stay here? With me?" Sinding asks. Krosa can hear the hope in his voice.

"For now, I suppose. Someone needs to keep you company lest you go crazy from loneliness and eat someone." Krosa starts to leave before Sinding speaks up.

"Where are you going to go, anyway? Back to Cyrodiil?"

"Not yet. I want to look into the College of Winterhold first."

"Be honest with yourself. You're never going to go back." Barbas says matter of factly.

"I will. Eventually." Barbas huffs, shakes his head and says.

"You're lying."

"Says the one pretending that Clavicus will ever take you back." Krosa says, regretting it instantly. Barbas stops eating, and puts his head on his paws, not replying. Krosa sighs, about to apologize.

"We're all hopeless," Sinding says before she can. None of them disagree.

* * *

Krosa sighs, looking at the small doll in her hand. She had gone to say goodbye, knowing Hilda would have been devastated if she didn't. What Krosa didn't plan on was receiving one of Hilda's beloved dolls, the one she deemed to be Krosa's favorite. It had curly black hair made from string, black dots for eyes and was wearing what looks like hide armor and a mace. Krosa wonders how anyone could or even thought of turning corn husks into a doll. It's actually well made.

 _What's her name again? Agatha? Amelia? Anna? Something starting with an A?_ She has no idea what to do with it. Stuff like this just takes up the space needed for more necessary things. However, she finds that she can't just leave it. A yellow and black striped butterfly lands on it, and Krosa immediately swats it away. _Those damn things are everywhere here._

"Don't tell me you're getting sentimental." Barbas says, purposefully needling at her. He had decided to visit the farm with Krosa, saying that if he didn't, she'd fall to Hilda's charm. Krosa knows he really just wanted a reason to see her. Hilda always makes sure he gets all the attention he pretends he doesn't want.

"I'm not." She says, giving him a warning look.

"Is that why you swatted that monarch away from it like it was vermin?"

"With how many I've seen here, it may as well be." Krosa says, looking around. The sun is starting to reach the highest point in the sky, and Krosa's sure she's passed or at least near the border between Falkreath Hold and Whiterun Hold. _Summer sure is beautiful here_. Imperials gave her the impression that Skyrim was nothing but a frozen wasteland. It's colder than Cyrodiil's summers for sure, but she'd take Skyrim's chill to Cyrodiil's mugginess anyday.

"You know," Barbas says, also taking in the view, "most girls actually enjoy butterflies. Some even keep them as pets."

"I suppose they are useful for potions. I could have torn its wings off and gotten a decent price for them."

"Well then miss 'I hate everything nice,' why didn't you?"

"I didn't need to."

Barbas rolls his eyes and says "Ah of course. Explains everything."

"When are you going to turn back?" Krosa asks, ignoring Barbas's comment. She never knew a dog could be such a know it all. "Sinding's probably worried that you've changed your mind by now."

"He'll be fine. What about you? You haven't changed your mind about Winterhold?"

"Why would I?"

"You know, it's not going to be as nice as you seem to think it will be. It's called 'Winterhold' for a reason."

"The Imperials called Skyrim a 'frozen hovel.' And it isn't."

Barbas just shakes his head.

* * *

"Aiden, lad, did you hear anything I just said?" Brynjolf asks, about ready to murder the kid. Brynjolf's been training him for a month, and still he seems to have no idea what he's doing. He thought Aiden was the type who'd be a natural at thieving, but the lad seems to lack any sort of common sense.

"What are ya talkin about? Ya din't say nothin!" Aiden says, still trying to shove the wrong end of the lockpick into the lock.

"Take a good look at what you're doing, lad. Do you really think that's going to work?"

"Oh!" Aiden flips it, finally putting the right end in and continuing as if that never happened. Brynjolf is surprised when the lad actually starts to catch on. Only a few more pointers from Brynjolf and Aiden was flying through the beginner locks, a lopsided grin on his face. Once he unlocks the last one, he whoops triumphantly. _At least I was right about the natural talent. Damn._ Brynjolf thinks as he looks on in amazement. It took Brynjolf a full day when Gallus was teaching him to do what Aiden did in only a few hours. Brynjolf smiles proudly.

Brynjolf ducks, and the dagger sticks into the wall behind him. He shoots a glare at Aiden, who turns and looks at him sheepishly.

"Oops."

"Oops? That's all you have to say after nearly taking my damn head off!?" Brynjolf yanks the dagger out, scowling. _Maybe it's too early for this._

Brynjolf watches the people of Riften going about their day. Marise, Grelka, Madesi, and Brand Shei are competing to draw the most attention to their stall, their shrill and gruff voices somehow managing to pull customers in. And getting on Brynjolf's nerves. _I should have chosen the other side of the marketplace._ Brynjolf thinks, watching a sneer Madesi gives Brand Shei after a customer buys something from the former. Those two have the biggest and most pointless rivalry Brynjolf's ever seen.

Balimund is hammering away at his forge while his apprentice and adopted son, Asbjorn, deals with the mass of customers. Brynjolf entertains the idea of going over to give him a hard time but decides against it. A little birdie had told Brynjolf that the man seems to be having an affair with his current customer, and Bolli's wife, Nivenor. _I don't understand the appeal but to each man his own._ Asbjorn always seems to find himself entangled in the most interesting love affairs, going for any and all that Brynjolf showed no interest in. His musings are interrupted when he feels a weight being lifted off his belt. He turns.

"Dang it! I thought I had ya that time!" Aiden exclaims. Brynjolf holds out his hand, and Aiden drops Brynjolf's coin purse into it. Brynjolf reties it to his belt.

"You'll have to try harder than that, lad."

"How'd it go?"

"Well, I was tailing the guy you said, umm- I forgot his name, but I ended up getting distracted. Ya see-" Brynjolf mentally groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as Aiden launches into his story. It's always the same thing. Aiden hears a snippet of conversation, smells something delicious, or sees the orphan lass he's taken with, Runa Fair-Shield, if Brynjolf recalls correctly. He then buds in or eavesdrops on the conversation, investigates the origin of the smell, or starts playing with Runa. Then he catches sight of Brynjolf, his target, or coins, and suddenly remembers what he was supposed to be doing. "And that's how I managed to lift this off of that dummy Hem-what's his name- Blackbriar." Aiden finishes, interrupting Brynjolf's thoughts. It takes Brynjolf a moment to comprehend what he said.

"You what!?"

"Were you able to smooth things over with Maven?" Mercer asks, taking a swig of his mead before slamming the cup on the table.

"Yes. I-"

"Stop. I can tell already that you're going to try to cover for the kid. I'm not in the mood."

"He's just-"

"I don't care what you say, Brynjolf, if something like this happens again, he's out. If you don't take care of it, I will."

Brynjolf nods, knowing not to push Mercer further than he already has. Ever since Mercer took over going through the numbers, he's been even more irritable. _Which is understandable. Things have somehow gotten so much worse in a short amount of time._ Brynjolf should count himself lucky that he's getting another chance at all. Mercer's usually not one for second chances.

"Now," Mercer continues, taking another drink from his cup. "Our last vendor has packed up and left. I thought you said you took care of it."

"I did. Things have gotten worse since then. I guess he decided he'd rather take his chances." Mercer sighs then throws the cup at the wall, breathing heavily, face contorted in anger. Brynjolf knows better than to say, or even do anything.

Mercer curses up a storm, getting up to pace the room. "So that's it? After years of scrambling and busting our asses and we still find ourselves no better off than we've been for years! We have no money, no clients, and no vendors! Soon enough we'll have no guild! Damn it all!" He kicks over his chair then stands there fists clenched, breathing heavily.

Brynjolf clears his throat after a few moments, finally deeming it safe to speak. Mercer doesn't look, but Brynjolf knows he's listening. "I may have an idea." He says, swallowing his pride. He knows that Mercer will do it, and knows who he'll appoint to do it. "It won't be a lot, but it should help us stay afloat for a while. And it may take a bit to set up." _At this point, I'll do anything_. Mercer stands there for a moment longer.

"I'm listening."

* * *

Krosa closes the book and puts her quill back into its holder. She rolls her shoulders, taking a look around the arcaneum. The dim lighting barely illuminates the tables and shelves of books. Her area is the brightest in the room, meaning she's the only one left. Well, the only one besides Urag. In the weeks since she's been here, she has never seen him out of the library. She gets up, grabs her things and blows out the candle.

"Done already?" Urag asks, going to a bookshelf across the room to put the pile of books in his arms away.

"I want to get an early start tomorrow." Urag grunts in acknowledgment, then goes back to putting the books away. Krosa likes him. Out of everyone she's met in Skyrim, he's the least nosy. Their conversations usually consist of two sentences, something Krosa finds refreshing. She doesn't have to try and make conversation with him. Krosa puts her book away, then leaves the room, nodding a goodbye at Urag who does the same.

Krosa steps down the spiral staircase, nearly running headfirst into someone coming up them.

"Sorry." She says, then moves to step around.

"Ah, Krosa! Just who I was looking for." The Arch-Mage says, gesturing up the stairs. "Come with me."

"Oh, actually I was just-"

"It won't take long." He says as he continues to climb the stairs, sure that she'd follow. Krosa nearly doesn't just to spite him, but curiosity wins her over. _Is it just me or do all Dunmers seem to have this mist of mysteriousness about them?_ She thinks back to her encounter with the hooded woman in Falkreath who hired her to bring her Brynjolf. His name brings up memories of their encounter, and she violently shoves them away. _I do_ not _want to think about that right now._ As they walk up, he says "How are you liking your arrangement with Urag? He seems to like you, practically sings your praises." He turns around and smiles at her for a moment "In his own way, of course."

Krosa doesn't say anything. The Arch-Mage chuckles.

"I can see why. You know, I overheard one of your conversations the other day, and have to say I was quite surprised. Usually trying to get him to talk is like pulling out teeth. He actually seemed quite lively, well, you know." He turns to her as they reach the top, and she offers him a small smile.

"I guess you just have to talk to him about something he's interested in. He has no time for small talk." He's studying her, Krosa can tell. "Are you going to tell me what you dragged me up here for?" She says to make him stop looking at her like that. He chuckles, then goes to the door to his chambers. Krosa hesitates, then follows him inside. She doesn't move too far away from the door, not wanting to take any chances. She looks around the room, wondering how he gets any sleep in here with all the things that glow. It's a large room, with a bed, table, bookcase, and chair shoved into one corner. The rest of it looks like an alchemist's and enchanter's dream, with ingredients and soul gems, and tomes covering every wall. There's even a small, strange looking glowing garden in the center of it. She's never seen any of the plants there before and finds herself walking closer to it.

"Do you like my garden?" He asks, coming up next to her, then going to the garden and plucking a few plants he must have noticed needed picking.

"Why am I here?" Krosa asks when she couldn't think of a good way to answer his question. The Arch-Mage goes to the ingredients shelf to put the glowing plant beside others like it. He goes around the room, checking everything as he speaks, not able to focus on only one thing at a time.

"Tolfdir wants to lead an excavation to a place called Saarthal with our novice students. Have you been acquainted with any of them yet?" Krosa grimaces, remembering Brelyna's experiment on her, and J'Zargo's faulty fire scrolls. The Arch-Mage laughs. "I see you have. Now that I think about it, I do remember someone mentioning something about- Well. I won't go on another tangent. I was wondering if you'd accompany them." He says, putting the jar filled with some kind of red plant he picked up from a shelf onto the alchemist's table.

"Why?"

"As you've probably already figured, they're eager enough, but not nearly as talented as they think they are. Tolfdir's getting on in age, as I'm sure you've noticed. I want someone reliable and skilled down there in case anything happens."

"And you think that's me?"

"I don't think it."

"And what do you think is going to happen?

He laughs. "Oh, what hasn't happened on one of these excavations!?"

"If they keep turning into disasters, then why do you keep doing them?"

"How else is one supposed to learn? I assume that you don't just read a spell book and then cast the spell perfectly? It takes practice. And from what I've seen, you yourself do better on the field than in the library."

"I can read well enough," Krosa says, not admitting to herself that it is a struggle. Her life hasn't really allowed her the luxury to find time to sit and read.

"I never said you couldn't. You just don't learn from it like the others do. You'd learn faster with a teacher rather than books."

"What are you saying?" Krosa asks, knowing perfectly well what he's saying.

"I'm making a deal with you." He says, making his way back to her as he searches for more ingredients. "You clearly don't want to be a full-time student for whatever reasons you have, but you are interested in learning. You have your little deal with Urag, and I'd like to add to it."

"How?"

He places another jar, this one filled with eyes on the table "In exchange for helping not only Urag, but anyone in the college, I could find time to teach you what I know."

"Don't you have actual students to teach?"

He laughs. "Well, yes. But I mostly serve as an overseer. I don't waste my time with those who haven't proven themselves. In all my students I look for that something the rest of them lack, or have a spark in their eyes, or a relentless determination. Currently, you're the only one I see with any of those." He stops his wandering, giving her a knowing look.

"Which one?" Krosa asks, genuinely curious as to how he sees her. Usually, people only see a tool, an acquisition, a smart mouth, or a mindless brute. Something else would be a nice change of pace.

He looks at her questioningly, before saying "Oh! Of course! What else would you mean? How about I tell you after you give me your answer."

"When is the excavation?" Krosa says, already knowing if it's too far out, her answer will be no. She wants her answer to be no.

"A few weeks from now. Plenty of time for you to get the books Urag asked for." _Damn_. Krosa thinks, trying to find another thing that could potentially be a problem.

"And I won't be-"

He smiles "You will have the same freedoms you do now. The deal ends when you choose to end it, and if the case may be, start when you choose to pick it up again."

Krosa sticks her hand out "Deal."

He walks up to her, takes it and says "I look forward to working with you."

* * *

"He would have wanted you to have it." Tolfdir says, handing her a strange looking amulet, the one Savos always kept but never wore. Tolfdir was chosen to become Arch-Mage after Savos's funeral. Mirabelle let him have it with her blessing, surprising everyone. Becoming Arch Mage had always been her goal. _I guess she either realigned priorities or doesn't expect Tolfdir to live all that long._ Krosa sighs. If she had known things would turn out like this, she never would have agreed to go on that damned excavation. She turns the amulet over, looking at it from different angles. The base of it was silver, cut into what looked like the outline of a six horned ram. Red runes circled around the blue gem placed in the center. She'd never seen anything like it before. It doesn't even seem to carry any sort of enchantment. "I'm sure he would have given you more," Tolfdir continues "but-"

"What does it do?" Krosa asks, not wanting to hear what else he had to say. She can't.

"I'm not sure. I've never seen anything like it." Tolfdir says, fingering the gem, a curious glint in his eyes.

"And what makes you think he'd want me to have it?"

"You were his favorite student."

"I don't understand. I've only been here for a few months, why- "Krosa says, clutching the amulet, her knuckles turning white.

"You don't realize the effect you have on people, do you?"

Krosa gives him a questioning look, surprised that she doesn't have the urge to roll her eyes. "I-I don't know what you mean. I've never-I don't" She doesn't even know what she's trying to say, so she just stops talking and puts it in her pack, the same place where Hilda's doll is. She sits on the bed, looking around the room before putting her head in her hands, her eyes burning. _Damn smoke_. She glares at the small fireplace in the corner of her room.

"I think he knew he would die soon," Tolfdir says softly, putting her pack onto the floor. He takes a seat next to her on the bed and puts a hand on her shoulder. "He told me he wanted you to have it if he didn't get the chance to give it to you. I would give you more, but Ancano and the Eye of Magnus did a number on the school. We'll need all we have to start repairs." Krosa shrugs off his hand.

"It's fine. I don't need anything."

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay? You were just starting to get comfortable before all this happened."

Krosa scoffs "Maybe that's the problem." She doesn't look at him, having a good guess what she'd see. He gets up.

"You're welcome back whenever you want. I wish you luck on your journeyings." When Krosa doesn't do or say anything, he leaves.

Krosa sighs. She gets up and grabs her pack. She goes to her desk and looks at her map of Skyrim. Falkreath is out of the question, as is Riften. And Cyrodiil. _Barbas was right. There's something about this place. It suits me._ She closes her eyes, not knowing how else to decide, and points to a spot on the map. Her finger lands between Dawnstar and Morthal. _I suppose two holds at the same time will keep me from getting too comfortable. I never should have come here._ She rolls up her map and starts on her way.


	7. The City of Ice and Stone

"There's eighteen of us left," Brynjolf says, taking a sip of his mead. "Harold and Tori left for Cyrodiil, Etienne disappeared. and Niruin had to spend the night in jail."

"The guards didn't-" Mercer starts to ask, but stops when Brynjolf shakes his head.

"Nope. They don't take us seriously anymore. No one does. If it weren't for Maven, we'd be nothing but a bunch of thieves and thugs hiding out together." Both of them take another drink. "Speaking of Maven," Brynjolf continues, "did she agree to help us?"

"Fortunately, yes. Ingun was excited to do it. If it wasn't for her, I'd say Maven would've refused. Unfortunately, Maven's going to add it to the debts we already owe her." Mercer says, pouring more mead into his cup. "And Ingun said it'll take a while to find the right, and wrong, ingredients to make a batch of the first product."

"I hope it works."

"It better. How'd you even come up with this idea anyway?"

"I was in the marketplace doing the usual when it just hit me." Brynjolf lies, not wanting to tell Mercer about how easily he was tricked and captured by Krosa. He hasn't told the story to anyone other than Aiden. Mercer grumbles something that Brynjolf doesn't catch, then leaves, taking the bottle of Blackbriar mead with him. He gets up, finishing off the rest of his cup in a single gulp.

 _I wonder where she is_. He muses, then goes to get ready for his and Aiden's trip to Windhelm, Aiden's first job out of the city.

* * *

It's evening. It's cold. _I'm exhausted_. Krosa thinks, having just collected her reward for helping put a stop to the pirate's rise in the east. Despite the ship nearly sinking in the battle, it went pretty well. She thinks back to the last time she was on a ship, years ago, her smile turning into a frown when the other memories associated with it surfaces.

She makes her way through Windhelm's frozen, cracked, and empty streets. The lamp posts reflect on the ice patches, thankfully making them easy to spot. As she nears the center of the city, she encounters more people going to and leaving the largest and most popular Inn in the city, Candlehearth Hall. Some people nod in greeting, others fall over drunk, a sight Krosa has grown accustomed to seeing. _Nords sure do love their mead_. She thinks, stepping over a beefy Nord lying prone on the street, tankard still in hand. She can hear the commotion in the tavern as she nears the door, wondering if she'll be able to fall asleep with that on top of her other problem. _If my sleep gets interrupted by those nightmares again, I swear by the Eight I'll_ kill _that damn daedric prince_.

Krosa walks in, tuning out the others as she makes her way to an open table in the corner. She had planned on going straight to bed, but the mouthwatering smells of whatever they're cooking makes her stomach clench in hunger, reminding her that she hasn't eaten since that morning. If she had any less control, she might have started drooling. She orders one of her newfound favorite meals, apple cabbage stew and chicken dumplings with honey and spiced wine.

She watches the others as she waits for her meal, noting that it's the same patrons as always, doing the same things they always do. Krosa can understand why someone would like routine. They'd always know what to expect, as things never change. She tries to imagine herself staying, having to go through the same day every day, over and over again. A memory comes to the surface of her mind, and she shoves it away, nearly panicking at the reminder. _I guess I don't have to imagine it_. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

"Krosa!" A young, familiar voice calls out, coming out of nowhere. She nearly jumps and can feel her heart quickening. _Please, no._ She opens her eyes to see Brynjolf and Aiden approaching. _Damnit_. They take a seat across the table from her, grinning. Either they didn't see the look on her face or didn't care. Brynjolf did look smug, though it seems to be a look he wears often. _I should have just went to bed._

"To be honest, lass, I was sure I'd never see you again. I thought you'd have left Skyrim by now." Brynjolf says carefully, watching her closely.

Krosa shrugs then sighs at the look he gives her. "I almost did." She says, purposefully using the least amount of words possible. Just to annoy him.

"But you didn't." Krosa shrugs again, missing his reaction as the waitress comes with her food. She tears her gaze away from Brynjolf to thank her and starts eating, purposefully not making eye contact again. However, she sees movement out of the corner of her eye and looks up to see Aiden nearly jumping up and down in his chair, clearly waiting for a chance to speak. _At least Aiden's here to make things less awkward._

"So, kid," Krosa says, putting down her fork. "What trouble have you gotten into recently?"

Aiden explodes into the story, sparing no detail about how Brynjolf offered to teach him to become a professional thief. Several times, Brynjolf has to tell him to talk quieter while looking around to see if anyone is close enough to overhear. Krosa listens. Kind of. She's mostly focused on eating. The conversation turns to the two of them arguing over something when Krosa realizes she's starting to nod off. Cursing, she watches them argue. _Maybe while they're distracted I could-_ She had almost gotten up when suddenly Brynjolf's eyes snap over to her. Aiden is still talking. Her heart nearly stops. _Damnit_. She expects him to say something, but he just nods, grabs her bottle of spiced wine and takes a drink. He turns back to Aiden, reigniting the argument so she could make her escape. She mentally thanks him and doesn't waste the chance.

* * *

Brynjolf watches as a trio of giggling girls pass by, gossipping about who knows what. Rather than eavesdropping like usual, he finds himself thinking of the night before. He could tell Krosa was exhausted and felt mildly guilty for leading Aiden there. Aiden wasn't happy when he saw she had bailed, but got over it soon enough when Brynjolf told him he'd be doing this job alone. Brynjolf will wait nearby to get him out of a tight spot if needed and to signal to him that the coast is clear. He sees movement in the window and gives him the signal. Aiden crawls out the window and scales down the two-story wall like a squirrel, all while wearing the biggest grin on his face. He nearly skips his whole way over to Brynjolf.

"Well done, lad!" Brynjolf says, clapping Aiden on the shoulder. "You even left the window open like I told you to!"

Aiden nods enthusiastically. "Yep! Does this mean I can-" Brynjolf hears footsteps approach, puts a finger to his lips and drags Aiden into the shadows. _What's she doing here?_ Brynjolf thinks, watching as Krosa passes their hiding spot and stops in front of a door two doors down from the house they just robbed. She looks both ways before crouching and taking out a lockpick and starts picking the lock. Aiden nudges his side and wiggles his eyebrows. Brynjolf gives him the signal to return to the Inn, and Aiden pouts. They have a silent argument that's interrupted when they hear Krosa curse. Finally, Aiden relents and takes off with the goods. Brynjolf walks silently over to Krosa, careful to stay outside her line of sight. He comes up behind her and says

"Need some help, lass?" He watches her tense then whip around, getting to her feet to face him. Brynjolf smirks. "Looks like someone's a little jumpy." He teases, "I wonder why."

She looks about ready to murder him.

"What? Do you have nothing to say for yourself, lass? I guess there _is_ no viable excuse for breaking into someone's house other than the fact that you, lass, are a dirty rotten thief."

"Look who's talking." She says before turning back to the lock. Brynjolf swipes the lockpick from her hands.

"Hey! What are you-"

"Helping," Brynjolf says smugly. "Your lockpicking skills are a disgrace." He gets it open in no time and turns to see her irritated glare. He stands up and gives her the lockpick, then crosses his arms. "There. Now, tell me, lass, why are you breaking into this poor sod's house?"

"An investigation."

"An investigation of their valuables?"

"No. I'm investigating a murder."

"Oh. Well." _That certainly killed the mood._ Brynjolf thinks, uncrossing his arms. His mind immediately goes to the Dark Brotherhood. He can't let her investigate one of their murders."Who died?"

"A woman named Susanna. She was found this morning, naked, and her insides taken out like she was used as part of some ritual. She's the third. All have been women."

Not only did this cement Brynjolf's belief that the Dark Brotherhood is somehow involved, but he also recognized the name. "Susanna?"

"Did you know her?

"She works, well worked, at Candlehearth Hall as a barmaid. A wicked woman really, though you wouldn't think it at first. She'd do whatever it took to get a few extra septims, but was sweet as a kitten, though I'm sure it was just an act."

"Do I want to know how you know this?"

Brynjolf shrugs with a wicked smirk "I doubt I have to explain it to you, lass." And with a wink, he adds "Though I could give you a demonstration. Just say the word."

Somehow Krosa manages to glare while rolling her eyes. "No. Now leave me alone." She turns towards the door.

"Actually lass," Brynjolf says quickly, "I was thinking about offering you my services."

"I already said no."

It takes him a moment to realize what she meant and sputters. "Blast it, woman! Not those kinds of services! I'm not some bloody harlot!"

Krosa just shrugs "You sure do act like one." He glares, offended yet somehow amused at the same time. "Most of the time, anyway" She finishes, hands going to rest on her hips.

"Flirting is not the same as selling myself to whatever person passes me on the street!"

"You do it so enthusiastically, it may as well be." The blunt comment almost made him laugh, but he was determined to be taken seriously. _She's meaner than Vex! I didn't know that was possible!_ Though, when he looks at her face he's sure he sees traces of guilt shrugged off as quick as it came. _Interesting_. This is the most titillating conversation he's had with her, and despite the topic, he doesn't want it to end so soon. She's more open now, in a way, and he wants to get a good read on her. So, with a smirk he says

"Are you just jealous that I flirt with women other than you? Most women are."

"Not at all. In fact, I'd prefer it if you'd flirt with anyone other than me."

"Do you enjoy being a heartless harridan?"

"Do you enjoy being a feckless cad?" He opens his mouth to reply but realizes that the words really did cut through to him. _Do most women see me that way?_ His mind goes to his encounters, worried. His thoughts are interrupted by Krosa, and he realizes that once again she's rendered him speechless.

"I-umm. Sorry. I didn't mean-" Well that's unexpected. He thinks, wondering if the face he made made her feel guilty, and what that would mean.

"No. You did. And, I can't say I didn't deserve it." For once in his life, he feels awkward. _This is new_. Clearly, she feels it too, but he's starting to think it's a state she's constantly in.

"I should go." She says, breaking off the uncomfortable energy around them, and turns to open the door.

"Wait!" He grabs her arm, and he can feel her tense and sees how her other hand goes to where she must have a hidden dagger. Clearly, she doesn't like being touched either. She gives him a look and pulls her arm out of his grasp. He lets her, feeling sheepish. She's about to say something, but he beats her to it. "Let me help you."

"Why?"

"It's the noble thing to do?" He tries. She's still glaring. "As an apology for acting like a worthless cad?" He tries again and sees her deflate.

"I didn't say worthless." She counters, and for some reason that touches him.

"It was implied."

"I don't need your help." She tries to take a step towards the door, but he steps in front of it, eliciting another glare from her.

"Maybe not, but it couldn't hurt."

She raises her eyebrow, unimpressed yet again.

"Especially with a murderous bastard who targets women who are alone." He adds.

"Which only happens at night. I still have a whole day." She says, crossing her arms and shifting her weight.

Brynjolf shrugs, his voice dropping an octave as he says "One can't be too careful, lass. Murder is a serious business and should not be taken lightly." She clearly wasn't expecting that, and he tries to decipher her reaction, but can't. The emotions go through her face too quickly to pinpoint.

She sighs, scowling. "Fine, but no flirting. We have to focus on the investigation."

"Are you saying you find my flirting distracting?" Brynjolf says lightly with a winning smile and laughs at the glare she gives him. "Alright alright. That was the last one. Let's get down to business." He opens the door and gestures for her to go in. "After you, lass."

* * *

As soon as they walk in, Krosa is hit with the stench of the place, and wrinkles her nose in disgust, her eyes watering. She creates a ball of light in her hand, and throws it to the ceiling, illuminating the dark room.

"Neat trick," Brynjolf says.

Krosa ignores him and looks around. The room's mostly empty, aside from a chair, barrel, and table in the center of the room, an empty shelf, and a blood-covered chest along one wall. There's an opening to another room to the right, and stairs and another opening straight ahead of them. Cobwebs are everywhere, and broken bottles and pieces of paper are strewn all across the floor, some covered in what looks like drops of blood.

"This place sure could use some cleaning," Brynjolf says. Krosa walks over to the chest pushed against the wall, Brynjolf close behind. She opens it to find it filled with papers. She takes one out and reads it out loud.

"Beware the Butcher, the killer who haunts the streets of Windhelm. These ca-calam-"

"Calamitous." Brynjolf finishes for her, picking up a small bound book from the chest. Krosa tries not to glare as she continues.

"These calamitous times bring out the worst in people, don't be the next victim. See Viola Giordano if you spot any…suspicious...behavior."

"Look at this, lass," Brynjolf says, handing her the book. "It's the butcher's journal. He must have been here just yesterday. His last entry is talking about going after Susanna."

Krosa takes it from him and goes through the pages "It also seems like he was once a student at the College of Winterhold. Interesting."

"How so?"

"Nothing. It's just-I was there for a while."

"It's good to know that not everyone who goes there comes out crazy." He says, and Krosa gives him a look "What, lass? After hearing the stories, one's got to start wondering what goes on there. I heard that not too long ago-"

"It's not important." She says, getting up. He takes the hint. They sweep the floor, Brynjolf commenting on everything, and eventually, make their way to the room behind the stairs. The light she threw into the center of the main room starts to dim, and she makes a new light in this one. There are two wardrobes on different walls, and a small shelf filled with more of what looks like the Butcher fliers.

"Is it just me or does it stink more here?"Brynjolf asks, going to the shelf as she investigates one of the wardrobes. Krosa finds nothing. She sees him lift something up out of the corner of her eye.

"What's that?" Krosa asks, coming up behind him.

"Some kind of amulet. The pendant seems to be made out of jade and ringed with ebony. It has some sort of worn off carving." He says, handing it to her. "Do you know what it's for, lass?"

She takes it, turning it over in her hands. "It also seems to have some sort of enchantment. But I don't know what. It doesn't feel good, whatever it is."

"What do you mean by 'feel good'?"

"Mages can usually see or feel what kind of enchantments is used on something."

"So you can't?"

"I can. I've just never seen an amulet like this, or encountered an enchantment like this before." She pockets it and goes to inspect the second wardrobe.

"Wouldn't the mage colleges expose you to all kinds of magic?"

"Probably. I was never really a student at one."

"I thought you said-"

"This wardrobe is nailed to the wall," Krosa says, fingering one of the nails.

Brynjolf comes up behind her "That usually means-"

"False panel." She says, trying to find the trigger to open it. "Found it." She says, spotting a square on the side that slides open, revealing a button beneath.

"You sure are full of surprises, lass," Brynjolf says. Krosa resists the urge to roll her eyes.

"Secret doors are more common than you'd think." She says, turning towards him, nearly regretting it as she sees that he's got that analyzing face again.

"Only in places that like to keep secrets." He says, smirking with that look in his eye that irritates her. _I need to be more careful with him._

Krosa doesn't answer. _He's too easy to talk to._ She turns around and pushes the button.


	8. Dismemberments and Other Curiosities

The door slides open, and Krosa nearly steps back in shock and hears Brynjolf gag. The stench no doubt originated from here. There's blood and bones scattered everywhere, some even arranged into what looks like a body on an altar in the middle of the room, most thrown into a pile on the side. The rejects. What's more disturbing is the fact that the candles were still burning. _How recently was he here?_ And more importantly, _When will he be back?_

She steps inside and goes to look at the shelf, finding it filled with embalming tools. Next to the shelf, tucked a little behind the altar she sees a basket full of skulls and another with what seems to be flesh. Her stomach churns. She turns to look at Brynjolf. _Looks like he's having a similar reaction._ Just as she thinks that he turns around vomits in a corner. Krosa refrains from pointing out that that'll surely let the killer know someone was here.

"Shit." He says after straightening. "I was not expecting-" He drifts off, taking it all in a second time. Krosa's sure he's turning green again, but he manages not to throw up a second time. He walks up to the altar, a disgusted look on his face. Something catches his attention, and he picks up another bound book. He opens it, looking even sicker than before. "It's-it's a list of… ingredients," he says, cringing, "and how to...prepare for the ritual. There's also some sort of poem. 'Star-scrying to the edge of ice-mind. Look to the lights where the souls dance, revealing a time when a spark will revive when the rotted unites under most skillful hands." He turns the page, brow furrowing.

"What does the next page say?"

He closes the book. "Soon."

Krosa scoffs and nearly rolls her eyes.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"It's just-it's so-" Krosa shakes her head, knowing what he'd think if she told him. And, she's trying not to talk to him.

"Oh, come on, lass. Now I'm curious."

"It's just so dramatic." She says, giving in.

Brynjolf laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"We find a room full of dismembered body parts for some sort of deranged ritual and the first thing you say is 'it's just so _dramatic_."

"It is." _What's his problem?_ Krosa thinks, taking the book from his hands and tucking it into her belt. She should have brought some sort of pack. Who knows what else they'll find here.

"There's a basket of skulls right there, lass. Are you going to scoff at that too?"

Krosa rolls her eyes. "What do you want me to do? Scream? Run away? _Vomit_?"

"All of those are normal reactions." He says defensively, crossing his arms.

"At least I'm not the one laughing."

"Hey, I'm not the one who summed it all up with the word _dramatic_."

Krosa scoffs again "What word would you have used?

"I don't know. Disturbing? Messed up? Horrifying? I can think of more if you want me to, lass."

Krosa rolls her eyes and does one more sweep of the room. "Let's search the rest of the house." She says, exiting the room. Brynjolf follows, and she closes the panel behind them. "You should go keep watch," Krosa suggests, heading for the stairs.

"What? Why?"

"The candles were still burning. He may come back soon." _He didn't notice?_

Brynjolf hesitates for a moment before saying "Alright, lass, let me know if you find anything."

He exits, and Krosa lets herself relax, just a little. After a moment of gathering herself, she goes up the stairs to continue her search, alone. Krosa comes up with nothing of note or worth and soon finds herself outside. Brynjolf's leaning against the wall next to the door. It's started to snow lightly, and Krosa looks up, a small smile on her face. She actually likes the snow, at least when it's not up to her knees and blizzarding all of the time. She sticks her hand out, catching a few snowflakes in her palm.

"Find anything else, lass?" Brynjolf asks, interrupting her thoughts with a smirk.

"No." Krosa tears her gaze away from the sky and drops her hand. She starts walking towards the Palace of Kings. A haughty name, in her opinion. Which reflects well on the people in it.

"What now?" Brynjolf asks, walking beside her.

"Now we go talk to Jorleif," Krosa says, dreading the encounter already. She doesn't know why, but that man rubs her the wrong way.

"The Jarl's steward?" Brynjolf asks, stopping.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Krosa asks, stopping as well, wondering if he was caught thieving by him or something.

"You have little faith in me, don't you lass? I never get caught." He continues walking, catching up to Krosa who stops him.

"How do you know him?" She asks, not wanting a scene if there is something between them, recalling what happened the last time she was with him.

"I wouldn't say I know him, but I do know of him."

"What have you heard about him?"

"Nothing more than rumors that contradict each other. Dealings with unsavory peoples here and there, odd deliveries, the usual things you hear about people in high places. If there is any substance to the rumors, the Stormcloaks aren't as righteous as they claim themselves to be, well at least no better than the Imperials."

"So you don't like either side?" Krosa asks, not sure why she's so curious about it

"On the contrary, lass, I like both sides." Krosa looks at him questioningly."You see" He continues, "all the soldiers and guards are too focused on the war, and don't have time for dealing with petty thieves like me."

"Apparently it also means they don't have time to stop murderers from roaming the streets," Krosa says, then starts walking again.

"Well, there is that," Brynjolf says after a moment, and starts after Krosa. "What about you?" He asks "What are your thoughts on this civil war of ours? Is there a side you prefer? My bet would be on Imperials."

"I don't have thoughts on the war or a preferred side."

"Truly?"

Krosa shrugs "It's not my problem."

"It hasn't bothered you at all in your travels? Most people that travel here find it all too irritating and leave for somewhere else, like High Rock, or sometimes more surprisingly, Morrowind."

"I haven't really noticed it all that much."

"You must not be the most observant then."

She shoots him an irritated look.

"It makes me wonder what your priorities are." Krosa rolls her eyes

"I don't have priorities," Krosa says, hoping he'll drop it. _He's too nosy._ She can tell Brynjolf's studying her again and does her best not to fidget under his scrutiny.

"Maybe that's the problem, lass." He says matter of factly. _Who does he think he is?_ Krosa thinks, stopping to turn to him, glare in place.

"What is?" She asks, wondering if it'd have been better if she had just ignored the comment. He has a way of getting on her nerves like no one else she's ever met before.

"You don't realize that you do, in fact, have priorities." He says, taking a step closer to her, the snow now crunching under his feet.

"What makes you think you know so much about me?" She retorts, taking a small step backward. _He's too observant._

"I don't." He says, and she's grateful that he stays where he is, but somehow he still feels even closer than before. "In fact, lass, you're one tough nut to crack."

"Well then, maybe you should do us both a favor and stop trying."

"I would if I knew what's good for me, lass. But I've always been a fool for a good puzzle." He says with mirth and something else dancing in his eyes.

"Maybe that's your problem." Krosa throws back at him, crossing her arms.

Brynjolf laughs, "Oh, believe me, lass. I know." he says, then starts walking. This time it's Krosa who has to catch up with him, and she does so, glaring at his back and wondering if it's worth it to shove him into one of the alleys piled with snow.

* * *

Krosa's been silent since their conversation, not bothering to pass him to lead the way. He can feel her glare burning holes into his back and has to keep from smirking. Part of him regrets pushing her so far and is surprised that she even still tolerates his presence after doing so. If anything good came out of his venture in the house, other than his banter with Krosa, it's learning that the Dark Brotherhood isn't involved. He was wondering how he'd have been able to convince Krosa to stop investigating if it was. She doesn't seem like the type that would let it go that easily. She may not think she cares, but it's as clear as day. The palace comes into view, crumbling like the rest of the city. _As bad as people say Riften is, at least it's not falling apart like this shit hole. Plus, it's way colder here._

"Here we are, lass." He says, turning to her "What-"

"Stay out here." She says, then walks past him into the courtyard. Brynjolf doesn't argue. He stays near the entrance, finds a spot on the wall that doesn't dig into his back or feel like it will fall apart at any moment, and watches the people go about their day. It should be past noon now, he thinks, trying to find the light of the sun behind the clouds. It's still snowing lightly, and he watches as snowflakes land on him, remembering Krosa's face when she saw it. It's moments like that where he forgets he's dealing with the most difficult woman he's ever met. _Though, it also tell me it's a sight she hasn't seen often before coming here._ He stores that thought for later and focuses his attention on the hub of people going about their day.

 _I wonder what Aiden's up to._ Brynjolf thinks, hoping the lad hasn't gotten himself into too much trouble. He spots Silda begging and picking pockets and wonders what she's heard lately, and if it'd be worth it to pay her price for the information. He doesn't have to wait much longer, soon Krosa comes through the entrance, not looking happy.

"How'd it go?" Brynjolf asks, straightening and trying to keep up with her fast pace.

"He told me to talk to a few people to gather more information on what we found."

"And who will we be talking to?"

"The woman who put up the Butcher papers, Viola Giordano, and a man named Calixto Corrium who owns some kind of curiosity shop. He might be able to help identify the amulet." She says, not slowing down.

"Calixto Corrium? I think I've heard of him."

"What have you heard?"Krosa asks, looking straight ahead.

"He likes collecting rare items. A friend of mine likes selling them to him. Either he's easily tricked, or he doesn't care. Some of the stuff I've heard he has sounds like rubbish to me."

Krosa stops and turns to him. "How do you know all this stuff about people?"

Brynjolf smirks "I have my ways." She turns around and continues walking, and Brynjolf's pretty sure he heard her mutter something under her breath, but couldn't catch what it was. _I need to get better at that._ They turn a corner, then another and Krosa stops at the second, rather large, building with a sign saying 'Calixto's House of Curiosities.'

"So how will we go about asking him?" Brynjolf asks as they come up to the front door.

"I was just going to show it to him and ask if he knows anything about it."

"Straight to the point. I like it."

Krosa doesn't reply, just turns to open the door. The room is full of shelves and displays wherever they can fit, filled sparsely with the artifacts. _Either he keeps room for more, or he's trying to make it look like he has more than he actually has._ One look at Krosa tells him she's also unimpressed.

"Ah! Hello there! Have you come for a tour of my House of Curiosities?" A man says, coming in from one of the other rooms. He pauses when he sees Krosa. "Aren't you the one helping the guards catch the one who murdered that poor woman this morning?"

"I am."

"I already told you what I could, but if I could be of any more help, all you have to do is-"

"Do you know anything about this amulet?" Krosa asks, holding it out. Brynjolf goes to examine the artifacts in the room, trying to hide his smirk. _She's definitely not one for pointless conversation_. He thinks as he examines a fork on one of the displays. _A fork? Really? What's his story behind this one?_ The shelf next to it at least has a few exciting things, like a dwemer gyro and a strange looking pink gem in a fancy box. He's seen those gems often enough but has no idea what they are or where they come from. The light doesn't catch on them right, and he always assumed they were fake. _I wonder if Delvin can tell me what it is and what they're worth if I brought one to him._ He never bothered before.

"Let me see…. Ah yes." He hears Calixto say "This is what's called a Wheelstone. It's an heirloom symbol of power in Windhelm. Traditionally it's carried by the court mage. I would be interested in...acquiring it. If you're willing to part with it that is." Brynjolf looks up at them briefly, wondering if Krosa would take the deal, then goes to the next one, this one holding some sort of ratty old book.

"Shouldn't the court mage have it?" Krosa asks.

"Wuunferth? Bah." Calixto says lightly, drawing Brynjolf's attention from some sort of flute "It's purely ceremonial, and he has no use for it. Besides, I wouldn't want to be the one to give it to him. Gives me the creeps. They say he dabbles in necromancy." Brynjolf makes his way back to Krosa as Calixto continues "I would pay, let's say, five hundred silver septims for a piece like this."

"It's not for sale," Krosa says, taking it from him. "Do you know what kind of enchantment an amulet like this would carry?"

"What do you mean?" Calixto asks, and Brynjolf can tell he already knew about it. _He most likely didn't want to mention it so he could offer a smaller price._

"I can tell it has one," Krosa says, narrowing her eyes and Brynjolf wonders if she caught on as well.

"But we don't know what it is." Brynjolf finishes for her. She gives him a look, and he smiles innocently, knowing that-

"Let me see that again," Calixto says, interrupting their silent banter, or what would have been banter if he didn't interrupt. Brynjolf tries not to be disappointed, they are after all, in the middle of an investigation. Krosa hesitates, then gives it back to him.

"Hmm. You seem to be right. I've never heard of a Wheelstone carrying enchantments, as I mentioned before it's purely ceremonial. It must have been added to it, presumably by Wuunferth… Hmm… I can't say what it's for, but I am willing to up the price for it. How about five hundred golden septims?"

Krosa takes it from him again. "Not interested."

"Surely it's not something you're attached to," Calixto says, voice holding something that Brynjolf can't decipher. "Where'd you find it anyway?"

"Thank you for your help," Krosa says, turning to leave.

"Suit yourself, but a piece like that is only valuable to collectors. Good luck finding anyone else who would appraise it that highly." Calixto says, his voice carrying a hint of what Brynjolf would call worry. Krosa doesn't look back, but Brynjolf does and sees Calixto glaring at her, a glint in his eyes that Brynjolf has seen in many people who would do whatever they had to do to get what they want. They exit, and Brynjolf closes the door behind them.

"He wasn't too happy to be cut out of a deal." He says as they make their way back onto the street.

"He'll have to live with it."

"The look on his face suggests he doesn't plan to."

"That's his problem.

"You're not worried he'll come after you, lass?"

"I'd like to see him try."

Brynjolf scoffs. "Usually I'd say you should be more careful, but after seeing you take down Hofgrir and then those bandits, I'm sure there's more than enough merit behind those words." Krosa doesn't say anything. _What did I do wrong this time?_ He wonders, studying her as subtly as he can while walking beside her. Once they get back to the main square of the city, she stops and turns to him.

"Do you know anything about Viola Giordano?"

"Unfortunately, I don't, lass. Did Jorleif tell you where we could find her?"

"No, but I might know who to ask." She says, scanning the square for someone.

"Who?"

"Some captain she's infatuated with. I think his name is Captain Lonely-Gale." She says, brow furrowing at the name "I've never seen her, but he likes to complain about her, or at least a woman named Viola. It may not actually be her." She adds awkwardly.

"Well, lass," Brynjolf chirps, "there's only one way to find out." He doesn't see the look she gives him as he starts his way into the square, wondering how this day will turn out. _It's been entertaining enough already._


	9. A Butcher In the Streets

"Viola, huh?" The captain groans. "Did she send you to bother me? That woman doesn't know when to quit."

"Actually, I was hoping you'd be able to help me find her," Krosa says, looking to Brynjolf who's watching the people around them, nothing moving but his eyes. _Is he paying attention?_ It didn't seem like it. She's beginning to wonder if he finds all this boring. _Why is he even here?_ He was so insistent, but he doesn't seem to care at all.

The captain sighs, drawing her from her thoughts. Her eyes snap back over to him as he says "Look for the one shoving her nose up everyone's business and hollering like a banshee." The captain's hands go to massage his temples "Damned woman sure knows how to be prominent."

"From what I could tell, there's more than one banshee in this city." Krosa hears Brynjolf hold back a laugh, irritating her.

"Puh. That's true enough I suppose, but I am surprised you don't know who I'm talking about. It's a hopeless situation. Poor woman's driving herself crazy with this Butcher on the streets. Thinks she actually has a chance to catch him. Some are surprised the Butcher hasn't taken care of her yet."

 _What's wrong with these people?_ Krosa thinks, scowling. _Is there something in the air that makes them all idiots?_

"No one's actually hoping for it," The captain says quickly, "at least as far as I can tell. I'd say people are just feeling ashamed about the fact that she's the only one with enough balls to try and stand up to whoever the fellow is, and try to comfort themselves by saying she's nothing but a nuisance."

"Is there a specific place where she usually is at this time?" Krosa says, wanting to knock his teeth out.

"Try the marketplace or anywhere with a crowd."

* * *

Krosa turns to leave, simmering. Brynjolf's sure he'll start to see the snow around her begin to melt. If he narrows his eyes, it does seem like the snowflakes are falling around her rather than on as if her anger is warding them off, and he has to keep himself from smirking. It's clear she dislikes the man, but Brynjolf just feels sorry for him. He does think that the captain and people, in general, are being unreasonable, but she seems to be taking it on a personal level. _I guess I just see it more often than she does. Or maybe-_

"Oh, one more thing." The captain says, and they turn to face him. "I have a favor to ask. While you're about can you keep a lookout for a little girl selling flowers?"

"Why?" Krosa asks her scowl turning into a suspicious glare. _She sure knows how to scare a man._ Brynjolf thinks, enjoying the captain's reaction.

"I-it's nothing like -that is-I just...I usually buy one from her every morning. I've been looking for her. She's not at her usual spot, probably decided to try her luck somewhere else." The man says, worry evident in his voice. "If you see her, tell her I'll be in this part of the city the whole day."

Krosa doesn't answer, so Brynjolf does "Of course, we'll be sure to do so! Thank you for your help!" The captain nods in acknowledgment, looking relieved. He turns to walk away, and Brynjolf looks back to Krosa.

"We're not going to do that." She says quietly, glaring at the captain's retreating form. Brynjolf repositions himself to block her view of the man, worried that she may just decide to fry him on the spot.

"Why not, lass?" He says, crossing his arms at her usual unimpressed look. "You don't think he's the Butcher do you? It seems like that's turning out to be that Court Mage fellow."

"You don't find his concern odd? He seemed too-I don't know...invested."

"That's not the impression I got. It seemed to me he's the kind of guy who genuinely cares, but is tired of doing so. Probably took it upon himself to keep an eye on the lass cause no one else does. I'd heard he lost his own family not too long ago."

"When did you hear that?" She asks, eyes narrowing.

"I overheard gossip while you were chatting with him. He's quite the topic among the ladies."

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Her hands go to rest on her hips, disbelief evident on her face.

"Have I ever lied to you, lass?" Brynjolf says lightly, going through his own head just to be sure that he's not overlooking anything said.

"Not yet, but there's still time."

"Is that really necessary?"

"Well it's true, isn't it? Just because I haven't caught any lies yet doesn't mean they're not there, and it doesn't mean that you never will either."

"You have little faith in people, don't you lass?" He says, masking the hurt. Even if what she said has a ring of truth to it, and only barely, that isn't the point. He's been nothing but accommodating around her. And a bit of a bore, he has to admit, and apparently a cad, _but that's not the point!_

"Can you honestly tell me that you're an honest man?" She says, crossing her arms "With what you do for a living?

"Can you honestly tell me that you haven't done anything less than noble?"

That makes Krosa go quiet for a few moments, a blur of emotions crossing her face as she struggles to retort. Brynjolf sees the moment they all converge, creating one that makes him regret everything.

Her voice gets low and threatening as she takes a step closer, practically simmering like she was before "Whatever I've done wasn't for fun, for the thrill. I didn't enjoy it." Krosa takes another step forward "Everyone does what they have to to survive. I don't make a career out of exploiting and robbing people blind like you do." She says, so close now that he can feel the heat radiating off of her.

"For someone so seemingly self-righteous, you sure do like to spout out bullshit like the rest of us." At this moment, Brynjolf has to admit, that he is, in fact, an idiot. _Didn't I just regret doing that?_ There's no way she's not going to take that the wrong way. Her anger turns to resolve as she says

"If it bothers you so much, then leave."

"Wh-" Brynjolf drifts off when he spots a shadow in the form of a person move behind them and doesn't get to finish his sentence. Krosa has started to walk away, and he tries to catch up. "Lass-"

"Save it. I didn't ask for your help. I don't need it. All you've been so far is a nuisance anyway."

"Krosa!" She doesn't stop, just picks up her pace. He follows her into the crowded marketplace, losing her in the thick of it. It's like she just disappeared. He looks around for a few more minutes, trying to not let his damaged ego get the best of him. Failing to follow someone is not something that happens to him often. _Well, shit._ He thinks, hand running through his hair as he looks around one last time. She's still nowhere to be found. There's nothing he can do. He could try talking to Viola himself. He was starting to get invested in the case, but that'll just piss her off more. She's no doubt somewhere watching and waiting for him to leave. He's left Aiden alone long enough anyway, and ensured that Krosa was safe from getting involved with the Dark Brotherhood, or that the Dark Brotherhood was safe from Krosa. Either way, he accomplished something, even if he was an idiot and made Krosa have more reasons to resent him. He makes his way out of the marketplace.

* * *

Krosa watches as Brynjolf leaves the marketplace, just as frustrated as he seems to be. She doesn't know what's with him and his self-importance, or why he was so insistent on helping her. He did help somewhat, but he was also so- And she does not trust him. He's so friendly it's unnatural. _And probably part of his act._ She steps out from behind the food stall she was hiding behind, glad that Savos had taught her that invisibility spell. Without it, she'd still be stuck with Brynjolf.

"Did the man that was bothering you finally leave?" The Nord woman asks.

"Yes. Thank you for your help." Krosa turns to give her money, but the woman shakes her head.

"Please, it was my pleasure." The woman says, hefting a large crate full of cabbages up, and hands it to Krosa, then picks up another one. "With how hard it is to make a living and be taken seriously here, us women need to stick together." Krosa helps her move a few more crates before thanking her again and leaving with a small sack of vegetables she purchased at a discount.

Krosa wanders the marketplace, and it isn't long till she hears a woman off to the side shouting "Be on the Lookout! The Butcher could be around any corner!" She approaches her, the paper she took from his hideout in her hand. She shows it to the woman who takes it.

"Are you the one who keeps taking these down?" Viola asks, and Krosa does have to admit that she has the same shrill as a hagraven.

"No. What can you tell me about the butcher?"

"It's about time someone's taking this seriously. Figures it's an outsider too!" The woman says, glaring at everyone in the marketplace in one sweep of the eyes. Krosa can see the suffering hidden there. "I've been following him for a year now. Well, not actually following. Trying to find him. The guards won't help. The people won't help. I'm the only one who thinks he can be caught."

"A year?"

"No one believed me when they first started. Before there were five victims in the span of a year. A few months pass with nothing happening, but now it's started up again! Three girls within a few weeks of each other!"

"How do you know they're connected?" Krosa asks, making sure to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"They're all girls found the same way, with pieces of 'em missing. And all found in the same area of the city."

"And no one's done anything? At all? Not even-"

Viola scoffs "The guards and Jarl say they're too busy with the war - I say what good is winning a war if we're still terrorized by one of our own?" Viola sighs, crossing her arms. "The people do care, but none of 'em thinks to do anything 'bout it! They say I'm just snooping around bothering people, but I'm trying to save lives!"

"I may have found a lead." Krosa takes out the amulet, knowing that it's stupid to do so, but she also feels like this woman deserves it. "I found the Butcher's hideout. This was in it along with journals and a horde of those papers you put up. Apparently, it's a Wheelstone that's given to court mages here as a symbol of power." Krosa has to look away when Viola's eyes turn glossy.

"Wuunferth, huh?" Viola says, voice cracking "There have been rumors swirling about him for years, about as long as I can remember. He's a dangerous man- it's why they call him 'the Unliving.' I wouldn't approach him directly if I were you. This information needs to go straight to the steward," and after a moment, she adds softly "he'll listen to you."

"Thank you for your help."

"No, thank you. Divines bless you. This city's full of bumbleheads. It's terrible for one's sanity." Krosa cracks a smile. "Glad to see there's still someone out there with sense."

Krosa makes her way back to the so-called palace, ready for the day to be over. She does not want to talk to Jorleif again, but should she take her chances with Wuunferth? He's the most likely candidate, but that's only if what people say is true. Calixto wasn't keen on telling her everything, and she doubts half the things in his shop are even real. He'd be a practiced liar. And Viola would jump behind any chance to catch the Butcher. Confronting Wuunferth could be dangerous, especially if he is the killer. But if he isn't and she goes to Jorleif who will most likely take what she says at face value just to be done with the whole irritating matter, the wrong man will get locked up, and the real culprit will still be out there. Krosa sighs as she sees the top tower of the palace, and slows down. She needs to decide before she gets there. _Why did I agree to do this?_

* * *

Brynjolf hears a door slam, then moments later, Aiden's signal giving him the all-clear. Brynjolf leaves the shadows of the alley to slink towards the door, the darkness of the night making him almost impossible to spot. Only the stars are watching, the moon hidden from sight. Brynjolf makes it to the door. Aiden gives no signal, so he takes out his lockpick and works at the lock, glad that this city is built like a maze with walls separating houses from the streets. This one's better than most, as it's also tucked away at the end of the street, mostly hidden from view. It's not a passing point for people. Only those who decide to come here would come anywhere near, and seeing as how Calixto's House of Curiosities is closed, this should be easy. The lock is more difficult than Brynjolf suspected, and there's no light from the moon to help, but that isn't too much of a problem, more of a mild inconvenience. He has the door open in only a few seconds longer than planned.

Brynjolf had memorized the layout of the place when he was in here with Krosa, and where all the windows are on the outside. He drew a diagram for Aiden since the lad can never be relied on to pay full attention to anything anyone says. When he hears a window open from upstairs, he smiles. Brynjolf makes his way through the showroom, throwing anything that should be of value into his pack. When he goes to the part of the floor he hasn't been to, the dim light is just enough for Brynjolf to see. He spots a medium-sized chest hidden under a desk, it taking more time to open than the door, which is a good sign. _The stronger the lock, the better the loot._ He thinks and opens the chest. He reaches into it, surprised that he doesn't feel more in it. He pulls out a locket, a ring, a couple gems, and a note. Naturally, he reads it.

' _Dear Calixto, You won't believe what I've found! It's perfect for our collection. I'm sorry I didn't wait for you to get back before going off to find it. I just got too excited! The lead was too good to be true! I should be back by the 18th of Sun's Height! I can't wait to show you what it is! You'll be jealous you didn't get to it first! Love always, Lucilla.'_

Brynjolf takes a look at the back of the locket. LC. _Was she his sister or wife?_ The ring doesn't seem to be a memento of any kind, so he takes it along with the gems. He scours the rest of the floor, then heads upstairs. He finds Aiden in the bedroom, his pack looking fuller than Brynjolf's. Either he got lucky, or he took whatever he saw. He's holding something in his hands, some kind of book that he's trying to read.

"Aiden!" Brynjolf whispers, and the lad whips his head towards him. "Let's go!" He doesn't bother to ask if Aiden searched the whole floor. What Brynjolf found will make for a good enough haul. Aiden gets up, the book still in hand. "What do you got there, lad?"

"I think it's someone's journal. I was tryna read it." Aiden says, showing it to him.

"Let me see it. Go watch the entrance."

"Alrighty, but ya better let me know what's in it!" Aiden hands it to him before slipping out the window.

Brynjolf skims through it, the first half being mostly on Calixto's artifacts and how he got them, and his memories of the many adventures he's been on with Lucilla, who Brynjolf now knows to be Calixto's sister. They're all written in letter form, and seem to be in not particular order. _Does he have more than one that he writes in?_ One catches his eye, and he reads through it.

' _Soon enough, my sweet Lucilla, you will be with me again. Normally when such words are written it is because of the love left behind is soon to depart, but in my case, I hope to soon bring your spirit back into my world, for it was you who loved this world so much, not I. I continue to collect your new form from the ragged bits around Windhelm If they only knew what destiny would soon grace their bodies, with your spirit imbuing them with higher purpose, they would surely thank me for the great gift I give them. I reserve for them a place of beauty alongside your heart. The day draws near. Soon I will hold you, and I will show you this, and it will be as delivering a long-forgotten letter to a weary traveler. Love always, Calixto.'_

Brynjolf had to reread it, not sure if he read it correctly the first time. It slowly comes together, and he nearly drops the journal. Calixto's the Butcher!? He thought back to when he and Krosa came to him earlier, reanalyzing everything. _Krosa doesn't know_. He reads the last entry, dated for earlier that day.

' _Tonight's the night, my sweetest Lucilla! Tonight we shall be together again. All I need is one more sacrifice. The body is ready, but the orphan girl's soul may not be enough. However, there may be a better candidate. A woman came in, one who's started investigating the last girl's death. She's found my hideout. Not only does she have my amulet, but most likely my other journals as well. Hopefully, she hasn't shown them to anyone yet, or that the guards don't take her seriously. That Viola woman I told you about would have been next if the orphan girl failed, but her years are numbered. The other woman's perfect. I sent her on Wuunferth's trail. She won't suspect a thing. It's a pity the orphan girl still has to die, but I know you'll understand. You always do. Love al-'_

The front door slams shut, and Brynjolf hears footsteps walking around downstairs, then the sound of a surprised shout as he no doubt sees what's all missing. _Shit_. He goes to the open window and sticks his head out, trying to find Aiden.

"Aiden!" Brynjolf calls out, whispering as loud as he dares. Aiden's head peeks over the other side of the roof. "Why didn't you give me the signal!?" Aiden silently makes his way over.

"I did!" He whispers when in range "Why weren't ya paying attention? I've been waitin' for ya to git out here!"

"Hey! Who's in here!?" Calixto says, coming up the steps slowly, Brynjolf can see the light of his candle through the doorway. A sling of curses goes through his head as he takes off his pack and holds it out the window. Aiden grabs it, and making a split second decision, Brynjolf hands him the journal as well

"Find Krosa. Give this to her! She needs it!" Aiden nods and disappears to the other side of the roof right before Calixto opens the door to the room.

"Hey, you! Stop right there!" Brynjolf holds his hands up and turns to see Calixto wielding an ebony dagger with a red sheen to it. _That's not good._ "You!? What are you doing here?"

"Well, you see lad," Brynjolf says, trying to drag this on as long as possible. "I have this fascination with curiosities like yourself. I thought I'd come in and have a look. It's quite a-"

"You like to talk don't ya? Where's that friend of yours?"

"She had other business to attend to."

"Like I'd believe you," Calixto says, putting the candle on the small table by the door.

"It is true, believe it or not," Brynjolf says innocently. _What's with everyone not trusting me today?_ He thinks, wondering if he's doing something wrong, or just unlucky. Granted, Calixto has good reason not to trust him, nor is that what Brynjolf really wanted.

"Well then," Calixto says, holding out his hand "Give me what you stole and I may just let you live."

"Funny you should say that. If you had let me finish my story, I would have told you that while I was looking around, I spotted a thief robbing you blind. I tried to stop him, but that's when you came in. If we work together, I'm sure we can still-"

"Stop talking." Calixto says, coming closer, but not close enough, dagger still in hand "You know, this isn't such a bad thing. I was just trying to come up with a way to get that friend of yours to come to me alone. You see, that _bitch_ has something I-"

"Ey, watch your language!" Brynjolf says, partly to annoy him, but also how dare he- "Agh!" Pain shoots through his body with a flash of purple light, bringing him to his knees. Another one and he's lying on the ground, gasping for breath.

"Hmph. I suppose if she was here, she'd have come in by now." Brynjolf feels him come closer, crouching in front of him. Brynjolf lashes out with his dagger, cutting into the side of Calixto's neck before it falls out of his hand as he's hit with another round of the lightning. Brynjolf tries to get up, but can't. Calixto lets out a string of curses, hands flying to heal the cut. _Of course he has healing magic._ "As much as I want to kill you right now, you're the perfect bait," Calixto says after standing up. Another, stronger bolt of lightning knocks Brynjolf out cold.


	10. To Catch A Killer

The sun was just starting to set as Krosa walked through the streets of Windhelm, with streaks of pink, purple, and orange painting the skies. She's not sure if she just never bothered to notice the skies in Cyrodiil, or if Skyrim's sunsets are so spectacular that it's impossible not to notice. The snow stopped falling by the time she exited the Palace of Kings, and the temperature dropped drastically. She stretches her fingers then brings her hands to her mouth, using her breath to warm them up. The people she passes, Nords more specifically, hardly seem to notice the cold, an ability she wished she had.

 _Wuunferth better not be sending me on a wild skeever chase._ Krosa thinks as she tries to wiggle her toes to get the feeling back in them. At least she doesn't have to worry about him escaping if he is the real butcher. Somehow he agreed to spend the night in prison while Krosa prowls the streets in the area of the city he was sure the Butcher would choose his next target. Turns out he's been doing some quiet investigating himself, his notes being the reason Krosa decided to listen to him. The handwriting was different than those in the journals, but it's not enough of a clue to get her to trust him explicitly. She's sure that some people would manage to think about changing something like that, especially if it could be used as damning evidence against them. Not that she's seen anyone do it, but the possibility is there.

Krosa sighs, her breath swirling in front of her. She hopes Jorleif actually sent guards to watch the abandoned house serving as the Butcher's hideout. She'd be pissed if she found out the Butcher succeeded in killing another person and completes the ritual while she's out here acting like bait. _That would be disappointing._ Especially after all she did today to catch the guy. She tucks her hands under her armpits and turns another corner to see another dark and empty street. _This city is built like a damned labyrinth._ There are no foot tracks, and she debates whether or not it's worth it to go down. _It's a perfect place to get ambushed._ She's about to take a step into it when a gust of wind comes from it, howling. Her cloak whips away from her, exposing her to the icy chill of the air. She turns, shivering, and continues back down the previous street, having gotten her answer.

It's not long after the darkness settles in that she overhears a snippet of conversation that seems to come from the street she's nearing. Krosa slows down and goes closer to the wall of houses, so her shadow isn't seen in the light of the lamppost. She sneaks a quick look around the wall to the street, to see Captain Lonely-Gale talking to a couple of guards. She stays there, listening, curiosity getting the best of her.

"I'm sorry, captain, but we haven't seen her."

"Did you even look?"

"Of course we did. Listen, we know you're worried-"

"Save your breath. I don't know why I bothered asking loafs like you."

The guards grumble and groan in protest, but Krosa can't make anything out. Krosa's about to start walking, but hears a single pair of footsteps approaching, and quietly makes her way a little further back down the street before walking like normal. Captain Lonely-Gale comes into view, going the same way as her. When he hears her behind him, he turns, and when he recognizes her, scoffs.

"Of course I'd run into you." He says, exasperated. Krosa tries not to be offended.

"What's your problem?" Krosa says, as nicely as she's able, before realizing there are other phrases that probably would have been better.

"There's a kid missing with a killer on the loose and in temperatures that could kill, and it seems like no one but me gives a damn!"

"And why do you care so much about it?"

He sighs, looking defeated "I promise I'm not some creep who's obsessed with little girls."

"I didn't-"

"Oh please, I could see it on your face before, and I see it now. You're not from here, I know, and I can see how someone like you could think that, but there's more to the story. There always is."

"I'm sorry," Krosa says, not knowing what else to say. But she does mean it. She thinks back to her last conversation with Brynjolf as well. _I'm an ass_. "I-umm- I can't really help all that much at the moment, but I've scoured this part of the city. I didn't see her, nor have I seen her at all today."

"Thank you. I assume that means you're trying to track down the Butcher?"

"How do you know that?"

"It wasn't hard to make a guess. No one seeks out Viola unless they have a reason to. And as of now, the only reason to is if someone's asking about 'im. So, you trying to draw him out or something?" Krosa has to shove down her growing suspicion that he may be the Butcher, despite the almost overwhelming feeling. It wouldn't make sense, but she'd still rather he leave.

"Or something." She says, crossing her arms.

"Well good luck to you. If you're as competent as you are terrifying, that bastard has no idea what's coming for 'im." Krosa smiles and lets out a small laugh.

"Oh, he will." He nods, then turns and walks towards the exit to the area. Krosa continues walking forward, getting ready for another walk through the streets.

* * *

Brynjolf wakes up suddenly, a sharp pain in the back of his head. He groans when there's another, and realizes that someone must be dragging him up stairs. After the next one, he remembers what happened. It doesn't seem like he was out for long, the pain from the lightning still lingers. He barely manages to restrain from groaning and opens his eyes a sliver. All he can make out is the shadow dragging him, and the stars laughing at him. Calixto stops, and Brynjolf hears the creak of a door opening before the dragging resumes. There's only one place this can be. _Shit_. He's in no condition to try and escape, his only chance is if Aiden gets to Krosa in time.

They make it to the secret room. Calixto drops Brynjolf's feet, and they land with a thud. He hears sniffling and has to refrain from opening his eyes again to see where it's coming from.

"Oh, please don't cry, little one." Brynjolf hears him say, then remembers the orphan girl mentioned in the journal. "It won't be long till all this is over. You should be glad to be a part of this. There's only one more thing I need to do." The crying gets harder, and Brynjolf wishes he could do something to the sick bastard. He waits till Calixto leaves and the sound of the false panel latching into place, before opening his eyes, and feeling the strength of the binds.

"You-you're not dead?" A small, young, voice asks, and Brynjolf looks over to the huddled form in the corner, eyes not being able to focus properly in the dim light of a few candles. And his reeling head.

"And you, lass?" Brynjolf says lightly, but she starts crying again. "Are you alright?" He asks more seriously, trying to get up into a sitting position, every muscle fighting against him. He thinks he sees the girl nod. He grunts as he finally manages to sit up, leaning on what feels like a shelf, and hope's it's not the one with a basket of skulls and flesh near it. "What's your name, lass?"

"Sofia."

"A lovely name." Brynjolf tries to get out of the binds, they're not well done, and them being in the front should be easier, but his trembling hands make it difficult to do anything. He stops, head falling against the shelf in defeat. "How long have you been here, Sofia?"

She sniffles "I'm not sure. He grabbed me while I was selling flowers. It was almost noon, I remember."

"Ok, ok." So it wasn't long after he and Krosa left the place. "Can you move?" He asks, a plan forming "Has he bound your hands or feet?"

"Both." Brynjolf takes a deep breath, the urge to kill the man rising. _It's no use getting angry. I have to think_. He tries, but can't think properly. At least half of his thoughts are fuzzy. _This is worse than being drunk._ He turns to look at the huddled form, surprised to see that it's a little closer than before, shivering, and blowing onto her hands.

"Sofia, are you cold?"

"Mhmm."

"Come here, lass." She scoots over and slowly leans against him. Brynjolf maneuvers his arms, so she's under them, head on his chest. _Krosa better get here soon._ He didn't plan on dying today.

"Thank you." She says shakily, and the teeth chattering starts to die down.

"Do you like stories?" Brynjolf asks, trying not to focus on the pain shooting through him with every breath. Sofia nods, and Brynjolf launches into one about the time he met the daedric prince Sanguine, only reaching the part about the goat when suddenly the latch on the door clicks.

* * *

Krosa's hit with another burst of ice-cold wind, and she has to hold her cloak closed. Nothing has happened yet. She hasn't even seen any other people besides guards. _They all must be in their homes, nice and warm. I swear if nothing happens, I-_

"Krosa! Finally! I've been lookin' all over for ya!" A voice from above her shouts, her hand goes to her sword as she looks up to see a shadow scaling down the wall of a house.

"Aiden?" He runs over to her, looking terrified. "Is something wrong?"

"It's Brynjolf! Ya see, we went to some shop he had went to earlier today and saw a lot of goods that could be worth good money, it was going well, but the owner came in and-"

"Aiden. I'm not going to break him out of prison." Though it would be a good way to apologize for earlier, it's still not going to happen.

"No! That's not it!" He shoves a small book into her hands "He told me ta give ya this. As I was runnin' away, I think I heard him screaming in pain and what sounded like lightnin'. He said ya need to see what's in it! I know you two were workin' together on somethin'!" Krosa hesitates a moment, about to ask something when Aiden, grabs her arms, shaking them and says "Hurry up and read it, woman! We need to go help 'im!"

Krosa opens it, turns to the last page and reads through it, dread pooling in her stomach. Calixto's the Butcher? And he has the missing girl. And Brynjolf. She looks to Aiden, who's biting his nails and vibrating anxiously. _What should I do?_

"Well?" Aiden says, "Whatever's in there must be important, but we gotta go back there!"

 _But what if they're no longer there?_ It's possible that Brynjolf's dead already. She crouches down to Aiden's eye level, a hand going to his shoulder. "Aiden, I'm sorry, but I can't-" Aiden starts crying, and Krosa tries a different approach. "I know what's happening is scary. But you have to trust me." He nods, wiping away his tears, lips still trembling. "If Brynjolf's still alive he's likely not there anymore. And if he is still there, he's dead." Aiden's eyes go wide, so Krosa quickly finishes "I know where he'd be if he's still alive. You can come with me and do everything I tell you to, or you can go get the guards to help you, or you can take my healing potion and go back to the shop by yourself. Those are your options." Aiden's quiet for a few moments, breathing erratically. And for a second Krosa thinks she may just have to leave him there.

"Ok." He says softly, voice cracking. "I'll go with you."

Krosa nods and stands up. "Come on. We need to run." They make their way to the abandoned house, and Krosa's glad that it wasn't clear on the other side of the city. Once the house is in sight, they stop, and Krosa pulls Aiden to the side of the street, behind the small wall at the side of the house, and hopes no one passes by. "Aiden, I need you to scout out the house. Can you do that?" She whispers, pointing to Hjerim or whatever Jorleif called it. He nods. "Ok. Look for any sign of movement or light or anything. Got it?" He nods and runs off.

While she waits, she sits with her back against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Her heart feels like it's going burst out of her chest, her lungs burn, and her legs are now throbbing. So are her arms. _That's not good._ When she at least manages to slow down her breathing, she looks over the wall. Aiden's been gone longer than she- She sees a shadow slink across the roof next to the house, then down the wall and starts quietly running back to her.

"Tell me what you got."

"There were two bodies." Krosa's blood runs cold. "But I checked them. They were guards." Krosa lets out the breath she was holding. _Why'd he have to start with that?_

"What else?"

"I think I saw a light in the upstairs window, but it was very dim. Someone may be in there."

"Is that it?" Aiden nods. "Which window?" She asks, trying to remember the layout of the upstairs area of the house.

"The middle one in the back."

Krosa nods, trying to come up with a plan. "Ok. Give me a moment."

* * *

Brynjolf and Sofia look up as the door slowly opens. Sofia whimpers in terror, hiding her face in his chest. A shadow walks in, one Brynjolf recognizes the shape of.

"Krosa? Shor's bones, lass I could kiss you!" He says, relief washing over him.

"Not now."

Brynjolf smiles, unable to help himself "Later then?" He can feel her glare as she makes her way over to them, a dim ball of light forming in her hand. "Aiden's outside." She says when she gets close enough to whisper.

"Are you here to help us?" Sofia asks quietly, pulling away from Brynjolf.

"Yes. Our only chance is if we're quiet and fast. Can you two walk?" Krosa asks, pulling out her dagger and working on Sofia's binds, before going to Brynjolf's. Sofia nods and Brynjolf hesitates a moment, hating that he has to say it. It would be worse if he pretended to be fine then falls over and alerts Calixto.

"That may be a problem for me, lass." Krosa nods, not wasting a moment.

"Ok. Umm- What's your name?" Brynjolf chuckles, regretting it immediately and eliciting another glare from Krosa. He was beginning to miss those.

"Sofia," Sofia says, drawing Krosa's gaze over to her.

"Ok, Sofia, you'll go first. I'll go with you to the door. Aiden's waiting at the side wall. Go with him back to the palace and let them know what happened, and send some guards this way." Sofia nods, and Brynjolf can see her doing her best to act brave, as well as shivering. _She won't make it far in this condition._ Brynjolf thinks, wondering what he can do.

"Krosa, give her your cloak." Krosa nods, surprising him by not arguing or asking why. _I suppose I should give her more credit than that._ She takes her cloak off and throws it over Sofia, dwarfing her. Krosa adjusts it so the poor lass won't trip on it while she runs, or make noise as it drags behind her.

When she's done, Krosa asks her "Are you ready?" Sofia nods. Krosa looks to Brynjolf, about to say something, but Brynjolf motions for her to leave. She does, and as soon as they're gone, he lets his head fall back against the shelf. He thinks about trying to get up, but one small attempt leads to pins and needles stabbing him everywhere. _This is unpleasant._ It isn't long until Krosa returns.

"Quick question before we do this, lass." He says, trying to prolong the inevitable despite knowing how much of a bad idea it is. "Do you know where Calixto is?"

"Aiden spotted him in a room upstairs."

"Why not just go up there and kill the bastard?"

"It'll be impossible to get up there quietly with the way those stairs creak. If there's a fight, I don't want anyone to get in my way."

"That hurts, lass."

"Do you want to lie prone in a corner while mages go at it?"

"Ugh. I hate mages." Brynjolf says, head falling back against the shelf.

"Are you alright?" Krosa asks, helping him up slowly. He helps as much as he can, but he has a feeling that it didn't actually do as much as he hoped. She maneuvers him, so his arm is draped over her shoulder, her arm snakes across his waist as she holds him snug against her as she straightens, struggling with his weight. It's all he can do not to make a suggestive joke. He would rather Krosa not kill him at the moment.

"What do you mean, lass?" He says playfully instead.

"You're acting like-" They hear a creak and stop halfway through the secret door. They stand there for a few moments, waiting for another one. It doesn't come. They resume breathing, and slowly exit the room, making it to the main one.

Brynjolf leans to whisper in her ear "H-Aghh!" Both of them are hit with lightning, falling over. Brynjolf's head lands on a broken bottle, and he can feel blood trickling. He feels Krosa gasp in pain, struggling to get up. She throws his arm off of her, rolling to her side to get up, before being hit with another, stronger, one. She shouts in pain, and Brynjolf's sure he hears her growl at Calixto's slimy voice.

"It looks like the divines are smiling on me today! You two are making this too easy!"

* * *

Krosa grunts as she tries to find the origin of the voice, feeling her blood boil. Brynjolf's struggling, but Krosa already knows he won't be able to do anything. Nothing else moves in the dark room, no shapes or shadows. She curses the darkness, gathering up enough magicka to throw a light to the ceiling as she looks around again and still sees nothing.

"That won't help you," Calixto says, voice closer than before, and she's kicked in the side, hard enough to roll her over onto her back, but still no one's there. Krosa groans. Wuunferth did say that a mage attempting to do this ritual is either a powerful mage or thinks that they are. She had hoped it was the latter. _Damnit_. She hears his footsteps retreat, moving for Brynjolf's struggling form, pieces of a glass bottle cracking under the feet, telling Krosa where he is. _It's a good thing this place is such a mess._ She thinks, kicking out and smirking when she connects with his legs. They give way, and he falls over with a grunt, the invisibility spell fading. She takes out her elven dagger, and as Calixto hits the floor with a thud, she sits up, plunging the dagger into his neck hard enough for it to puncture the floor. He writhes, gurgling, his hands grasping the hilt to try and pull it out. Unsuccessfully. Krosa goes to Brynjolf, not wanting to watch. She helps him up, it being a slow and painful process for both of them. When they manage to get to their feet, he sees Calixto's now still body.

"Well," Brynjolf says, panting, "shit." He takes a small step closer to inspect it, Krosa humors him, looking away when she sees that his eyes and mouth are still gaping open. Brynjolf turns to her, giving her a look as he says "That was all rather anticlimactic." Krosa rolls her eyes, and they make their way out of the house, stumbling. They make it to the street before collapsing in a heap when Krosa's legs give out from under her. "Krosa, are you-"

"I'm fine." She rolls over, pushing herself out from under him and rolling onto her back, looking up at the sky. "How are you doing?" She asks, breathless. He follows her example, grunting in pain.

"Good enough, considering." Krosa tries to laugh, but it comes out as a strangled cough. She groans. "Are you sure you're alright, lass?" He asks looking her over. She nods. They're silent for a while, watching the stars, and Krosa's sure they're twinkling so brightly just to annoy her. Brynjolf breaks the silence.

"You know, I've been thinking."

"That can't be good."

"Very funny, lass." She smirks, and he continues "Why didn't we-"

Krosa groans. "Really? You're going to do this now?"

"I've just been going through everything in my head. You know, trying to make sense of things."

"Fine. Continue."

"In hindsight, lass….wouldn't it have just been easier to have stayed here when we found it and ambushed him when he came back?"

It takes her a few moments, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to speak. She stops trying, and closes her eyes, actually enjoying the chill that hides her embarrassment. _There_ must _be something in the air. I'm an idiot._

"What's wrong, lass? Are you-" Brynjolf starts, sounding worried.

"No. I'm fine. It's just-" She sighs, still not opening her eyes. "You're right. That would have been better."


	11. Hot and Cold

It doesn't take long for the guards to come with Aiden leading them. Or at least it feels like not a lot of time has passed. Krosa hasn't really been keeping track. She faintly remembers Brynjolf mentioning something about how they should try to get up for...some reason. Krosa's surprised to see that Jorleif and some sort of bear-man also made an appearance. She finds herself annoyed but doesn't know why. They try talking to her, but she's not entirely sure what they're saying. Shaking hands help her up, or is it her that's shaking? She tries to talk, to tell them to leave her alone, but they don't listen. Someone mentions something about freezing, but she isn't sure. All she's sure of is the cold. Soon, she's not sure of anything. Then the world fades out of existence.

* * *

Krosa wakes up with a jolt, sweating. _Wasn't I cold?_ Heavy, fur-lined blankets fall from around her as she sits up to look around, starting to panic at the unfamiliarity of wherever she is. The only light of the stone room is that of the large, roaring fireplace next to her bed, and the light coming from the stained glass window on the other side of the room. There's another bed under the window, also with someone in it. Brynjolf. He seems to be in a similar state that she just was. _Is this in the Palace of Kings?_ Krosa thinks, looking around some more to see a door opposite the fireplace.

Krosa extracts herself from the bed, surprised and annoyed to see that she's only in her underclothes. She looks around the room again to see a chest at the end of each of the beds. She goes to hers, glad for the heat radiating from the fire. Her stuff is piled neatly in it, even her things from Candlehearth Hall, minus the food she bought from the Nord woman in the marketplace. It irritates her more than it should. With a little digging, she even sees a new, expensive looking cloak and wonders how much it'd be worth. She's quick to put it all back on and in their rightful place, doing another survey of the room, her eyes falling on Brynjolf. Krosa considers waking him up but decides against it. _I really don't feel like talking to him right now._ She goes to the door, relieved to see that it's unlocked. She opens it to see a teenage girl, a servant by the looks of it, standing there about to open it herself. _Or anybody._

"Oh!" The girl exclaims, turning red. "I was just about to check on the fire. How's it doing….and...umm...h-how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, and so is the fire," Krosa says, cringing at the hoarseness of her voice. She steps out, closing the door behind her, the girl quick to get out of the way as she does.

"That's good. I'll inform Jarl Ulfric you're awake-unless you want me to lead you to the kitchens first?" The girl asks, wringing her apron in her hands as she continues. "The blond boy is still there...I think."

"Do whatever you want," Krosa says, turning to walk down the narrow stone hallway. She always found the need for servants to be unnecessary and….awkward.

"I'll show you to the kitchens first." The girl says quickly, catching up to her and lightly grabbing her arm. As soon as Krosa turns to look at her, she drops it.

"Thank you, but I can find it myself," Krosa says, trying to spare the girl from her lack of good mood.

"You're-umm… you're going the wrong way."

"Then tell me where it is."

"I could just-"

"You really don't have to."

"But I-

"The Jarl told you to keep an eye on me, didn't he?" The girl's face says it all. Krosa sighs in defeat. She knows from experience how Jarls can get when a servant, or anyone really, displeases them. And what she's heard about Ulfric, he isn't the agreeable sort. "Alright. Take me to the kitchens."

They start walking the right way, only making it a few feet before the girl starts talking again.

"S-so. Is it true what they say?"

"That depends on what they say."

"That you killed the Butcher? Well, you and your…" She looks to Krosa to help her out, but not even Krosa knows what Brynjolf is to her. _A friend?_ She does like him well enough, more than she thought she would, but that still seems too- she's not sure, but it doesn't sound right. _I barely even know him._

Krosa just nods.

"Oh. Wow." The girl says, eyes going wide as she turns to look forward.

Neither of them says anything else for the rest of the way to the kitchens. Krosa does notice that the girl almost starts to talk, several times, and is grateful each time she doesn't. It isn't long before they reach the kitchens, Krosa can tell they were getting close by the sound of Aiden's voice.

"It's right here, miss." The girl says, stopping at the last door in the hall.

"Thank you," Krosa says as politely as she's able. The girl nods, about to leave when she whirls back around to face her, looking like a scared rabbit. _She must be new. Or shy._

"Oh! One more thing!" The girl says, blushing "Jarl Ulfric wishes to speak with you, so don't leave before then...But it might be a while." Krosa nods and watches her scuttle away. _Finally_. She thinks as she opens the door. Luckily Aiden was facing away from it and was talking with some old man, so it wasn't until after she got food and sat down that Aiden noticed her.

At first, Aiden tried talking to her, but soon gave up when he realized she wasn't and didn't plan to pay attention as much as he wanted her to. She did try, but she also didn't have enough energy to keep up with him. Also, she was _hungry_. Eventually, he left altogether, deciding that trying his luck with an unconscious Brynjolf would be easier. Not long after that, a servant came to bring her to Ulfric. She went, quickly stuffing more food into her satchel. Neither the cook nor servant seemed bothered by the fact, the chef actually smiled.

Krosa finds herself lucky that this servant doesn't say anything on the way. They reach a door slightly larger than the rest. The servant gestures for her to enter then leaves her there. _Odd_. Krosa shrugs it off and opens the door.

"Don't you knock?" A deep, gruff voice says, the owner of it, Ulfric, is at his desk filling out what looks like some kind of form. The first thing Krosa notices about him, is that he isn't dressed for comfort or showing off wealth. Instead, he looks ready for combat, showing off his power, which matches the stories she's heard. Neither is his office unnecessarily extravagant, but it still looks costly. He looks up when she closes the door.

"You wanted to talk to me?" Krosa says, crossing her arms.

"Sit." He says, gesturing to the large chair in front of the desk.

"I can stand."

"Suit yourself." He says, looking her over. Krosa does the same, recalling what she's heard of him. Served in the Great War, leader of the Stormcloaks, challenged the High King to a duel and shouted him to pieces, hungry for power. _Not someone I ever wanted to come across._ After a while without him speaking, she runs out of patience.

"If you're not going to say anything, I can leave," Krosa says as she turns to go to the door, not wanting a part in whatever game he's playing. People in power love their games.

"So you and your friend are the ones responsible for getting rid of the Butcher." He says, voice slightly raised to draw her attention.

"So you're the one who let him run free in the first place," Krosa says, turning back to him and wondering why he feels the need to state the obvious.

"I'm in the middle of a war." He states, putting his quill down.

"So?"

"It's not easy to run a city and wage war."

"And yet your people think you'd make a good High King." Krosa retorts, cursing herself for her impertinence.

He stands up, eyes turning dangerous as he says "You do realize that I can-"

Krosa shrugs "I'm only repeating what I've heard." She says, taking in the rather large room, not making eye contact. That seems to placate him a little, but now he looks at her with careful consideration, as if he's a predator closing in on his prey.

"Is that all you've heard about me?"

"It's the only thing I'm willing to say after that display."

He chuckles a little, confusing Krosa, then says "So they're not good then. Can you tell me what else you've heard? I promise I won't let my temper get the best of me." He sits back down, looking at her expectantly. As if there was no way she could possibly refuse him.

It's all Krosa can do to hold back from her retort about how well he seems to keep his promises, and instead says "I'm sure you've heard them. Now, are you done with the interrogation?"

"One more question, if you would."

"Fine."

"Do you support the Stormcloaks or the Imperials?"

"I don't care about the war," Krosa says, barely able to not roll her eyes at the question. It's one she's heard so many times already.

"Why not?"

"I only agreed to one more question. If that's all you wanted me for, I'm leaving." She turns to leave.

"Wait!" He says, and she can hear him stand up. Krosa holds back a groan as she turns around again, not bothering to hide her irritation. "I heard you're also the one that earned the Imperial's victory against the pirate uprising. One of my...agents was quite impressed. Said you were a natural at sailing."

Krosa shrugs "It's not like it's that hard."

He cracks a small smile as he says "I also heard that Jarl Siddgeir tried to get you to become his thane. As well as Jarl Skald."

"Siddgeir is a pompous, sleazy ass who only wanted me to do his dirty work, and Skald is-."

"A good friend of mine." He says, tone full of warning.

"Figures," Krosa says under her breath. She's sure he heard and is grateful that he decides to ignore it.

"Your accomplishments have made people start talking." He says carefully, too exact, as if he's planning something "You've made quite a name for yourself."

"I'm not thane material if that's what you're asking."

"I believe otherwise, but that's not why you're here." He reaches under his desk, pulling out a small chest."Take this." He says, walking over and holding it out to her. She doesn't take it.

"What's in it?"

"A reward, as well as a thank you for your help."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"Not necessarily."

"There wasn't a-"

"Now there is. Take it." Krosa does, and it's heavier than she thought it'd be. She opens it to look inside. "No need to look so suspicious." He says at the face she makes.

"That's a lot of gold. Don't you have a war to fund? Or a city? This whole place is crumbling around you."

"Think of it as an investment. You've done good things for the people of Windhelm, succeeded where many have failed. People like you are rare."

"Mercenaries are everywhere."

"You seem like you could be more than just a mercenary."

"Like what?"

"That's what I'm trying to decide." He states matter of factly, his gaze making Krosa uncomfortable. She never did like it when people try to figure her out, as if they can decide what kind of person she is without even getting to know her.

"So…" Krosa starts, wanting to steer the topic back to what the conversation should be "You're bribing me to stay in the city to do your dirty work?"

"Isn't that what you're already doing?" He says with an arrogant smirk.

"Not like this," Krosa says, not believing his arrogance. The gall. _What does he have to gain if I stay? What would he lose if I left?_ The whole thing hits too close to home, and she hates him for it. Krosa holds the chest out to him. "Keep your gold. My loyalties won't be bought."

"I'm not buying your loyalty." He says, exasperated, and she can tell she's trying his patience. She doesn't care. "I give this freely with promises of more if you keep doing what you're already doing."

"You mean to keep doing what you should be doing. Or your thanes or steward or guards."

"As I said before, you are clearly more effective."

"And if I choose not to be your saving grace?"

"Then you don't. You leave the city and do what you will. The fault would be mine." _This doesn't make any sense._ Krosa thinks, her head running a mile a minute. _There must be a catch._ "You don't trust me?" He says, actually looking amused.

"Why would I?"

"I do admit that some of what people say is true. I am a proud man who loves my country, and I will do anything to protect it from those who would take away what makes us who we are. I may even be dishonorable in some of my methods, but such is the way of war. It makes a monster out of all of us." He drifts off a moment, a faraway look in his eyes before he continues, looking at her with an intensity that makes her feel like she's as small and unimportant as a flea. "I am not one to be trifled with, but there is one redeeming quality I possess if there is no other. I do keep my promises, despite the rumors about me. And I promise you this. You can take the gold and stay or go. Just know that staying would not only benefit me and the city but you as well."

His eyes are honest, tone sincere, but Krosa still doesn't trust him. Doesn't even want to be near him. He has a strange look about him, one that makes Krosa wary. He even admitted that she should be careful around him. He wants something that Krosa can't discern, and she finds that she doesn't want to find out. With one last look, Krosa takes the gold and leaves without another word. He lets her. As soon as she closes the door behind her, she lets out several calming breaths, shuddering. _I hope this doesn't come back to bite me._

Krosa walks away, her nerves start turning to normal the further away from the door she gets. She was uncertain how the encounter would go, but was sure that it wouldn't have ended as it did. She really does need to start watching her mouth. Her lack of respect for authoritative figures could get her killed one day. He could have thrown her in prison for her impertinence, he could've reasoned that she was an Imperial spy and had her executed. But he didn't, which leaves her second-guessing what she knows about him. Maybe he's not as bad as she thought. He could be a powerful ally, but she doesn't need that. _And he's still an arrogant ass._ A dangerous one.

Candlehearth is her first and only stop. She briefly considered seeing if Brynjolf is awake, but at the moment all she wanted to do was get out. When she stepped out of the Palace, she is surprised to see how late it is. She and Brynjolf must have slept through most of the day. _And still I 'm exhausted_. Krosa wonders how Brynjolf's doing, feeling only a little bad about leaving him there without a word, but also finds that she's too tired to do anything about it. _He and Aiden'll probably attempt to rob the place anyway._ Krosa thinks, handing the innkeeper the septims for her room. She can tell people are watching and talking about her. When she walked in, everyone stopped talking, then started again in whispers. Krosa ignores them and turns down the innkeeper's offer of sitting down for a meal. Once she gets to her room, she takes her armor off, shoves the chest under her bed, and goes to the bathing room. No one else is there, and she's glad for the solitude. The steaming water soothes her taut muscles, and she nearly falls asleep. When two more girls enter, Krosa gets out, dresses, and heads back to her room. She really shouldn't be surprised to see Brynjolf waiting for her when she opens the door, leaning against the desk without a care in the world.

* * *

Krosa closes the door behind her, and Brynjolf is so startled seeing her look so casual, that he forgets what he was going to say. He'd only ever seen her in her full armor, looking as intimidating as, well, a warrior. She's only wearing a loose black shirt and brown trousers that hug her hips. Her wet hair hangs behind her back, revealing a scar on the side of her face usually hidden when it's swept over her shoulder in her usual style. Her light spatter of freckles seem even more prominent now, giving her a younger, softer look than usual. He suddenly remembers that he had planned on saying something when she entered. _What was it?_ Something about what happened earlier, but he can't fully grasp it. He clears his throat, knowing he'll never be able to remember it, and hopes for the best.

"Enjoy your bath?" He says lightly, trying not to cringe.

"What are you doing here?" Krosa asks, throwing her wet towel onto the chair by the desk.

"I thought I would come to see how you were doing."

"I'm fine."

"Are you? You seem more...agitated than normal."

She sighs. "Sorry, I'm just tired."

Brynjolf is surprised that she isn't annoyed, that she actually seems...open and maybe even friendly. He was beginning to think he'd had her figured out, but once again, like the night before, she has him second-guessing what he knows. As thrilling as it is to be kept on his toes, he doesn't like being so out of his depth so often. To keep the tone of their conversation open and friendly, he says "Riddle me this, lass."

Krosa gives him a weird, confused look. "What?" He knows what she means by it, but decides to continue as if she was playing along. Someone around here has to go for it for the sake of good conversation.

"Why is it that whenever we are together, I always end up bleeding?"

She smiles a little, rolling her eyes as she sarcastically retorts "Maybe it has something to do with your bleeding desire for me."

"What?" Brynjolf says, not expecting an answer like that in the slightest, and possibly even feeling a little blood rush to his face. _Was that a joke?_ He barely contains his laughter as he says "No, lass, you can't say things like that!"

"Why not?" Krosa says, looking worried as she crosses her arms, walls starting to shoot up.

"That's not how this works." Brynjolf says with a smirk.

"How what works?"

"Our relationship." She scrutinizes him, trying to find what angle he must be playing at. His smirk grows as he walks closer, saying "You see, lass, _I_ am supposed to be the charming witty one, and you're the taciturn cynical one."

"Since when?"

"Since we've met!"

"Oh, that _one_ time?"

"You seem to be forgetting the time we spent together here."

She's unimpressed.

"I'm just saying you can't keep turning the tables on me, lass, it's not fair."

"Since when does a thief like to play fair?"

"It happens more than you'd think."

Krosa studies him with a look of apprehension and scrutiny, and he can feel the mood shift as she mutters something under her breath, something he can't hear.

"What was that, lass?"

She looks up at him with a strange look in her eyes."Nothing." She says, the barrier between them closing once again. _Well, that won't do_. He thinks. _We were doing so well._ He's not going to let it end there.

After a few moments of silence, he playfully says "Well, lass, it looks like a thank you is in order." He takes a step closer, stopping within a foot, which he can tell makes her uncomfortable, but she stands her ground anyway.

"Really?" Krosa deadpans.

Brynjolf mocks offense, hand going to his chest as he says "What? I don't work for free, lass," he says, leaning close enough to whisper in her ear "that'd be bad for business."

She seems unphased, but Brynjolf can detect the barest hint of a blush. _It's good to know I have some effect on her._ He was beginning to worry. Krosa turns to look at him dead in the eye, eyebrow raised in its trademark unimpressed position, though this time he can see mirth dancing in her eyes as she says "So the coin you already stole from me isn't sufficient enough payment?"

Brynjolf's mouth opens and closes, baffled for a moment before leaning back as he tries to suppress a smirk. "I don't know what you're talking about, lass."

"I'm sure you also don't know why the chest under the bed seems to be a little further under the bed than where I put it, or why something in your pocket clinks every time you take a step."

Brynjolf can't hide a smile as he says "Alright, alright. You caught me. Damn you're good." He chuckles and takes a step back, fishing his hand in his pocket to gather the coins, impressed at her attention to detail. _Everything about her is impressive, apparently._ "You know lass, my guild could use a person like you." He says, stretching his hand out with the handful of gold piled in it. She stiffens for a moment, before shrugging off the discomfort or whatever it is that holds her back.

Krosa snorts, ignoring his outstretched hand. "Is that an offer?" she says playfully.

"Is that a yes?" Brynjolf asks, leaning a smidge closer in anticipation.

"No."

"Damn." He deflates, hand sinking a few inches as he goes on to say "Well then, it was mere speculation." He takes her hand with his free one and tries to dump the coins into it, but she closes her fist, not letting him.

"Keep the gold, Brynjolf. I was going to pay you anyway." She pulls her hand from his and steps away.

"Truly?" He asks, ignoring the smidge of guilt that comes. _Of course she would_.

Krosa leans her shoulder against the door, rolling her eyes, and looking anywhere in the room but at him as she says "That's how it works right?" Her smirk grows into a mischievous grin, and Brynjolf has to resist the urge to wipe it off her face with a kiss. "You help, you get paid." She continues, oblivious to his struggle "I was planning on giving you more, but it seems you're not nearly as greedy as I thought you were." She shrugs, finally making eye contact with him as she says "It's good to know you're willing to help for such a small price." She doesn't even bother to hide her amusement as she smugly smiles.

Brynjolf laughs at the snarkiness, shoving down the urge to kiss her again. _I really do need to do something about that_. He puts the coins back into his pocket as he jokingly states "Only for you, lass, only for you." He maintains eye contact as he crosses his arms and leans against the wall as she's doing. Brynjolf sighs dramatically "Bested yet again by a beautiful woman. You truly are something else, lass." He says, boring his eyes into hers, letting them drop a moment to her mouth for a fraction of a second. He sees her do the same before the red in her face deepens a shade, and she straightens. Moment broken. Brynjolf feels a small pang of disappointment, but follows suit, watching her carefully. She avoids making eye contact with him.

"You should probably leave. I assume Aiden's waiting for you somewhere?"

"The dining hall. You won't be joining us, lass? The innkeeper says our meals are on the house."

Krosa shakes her head, briefly making eye contact before looking down and away again. "No-I have….something important to do."

"Something important to do?" He deadpans

Krosa looks anywhere but at him. "I-yes." She fidgets under his scrutiny.

Brynjolf takes a step closer, smirk in place as he sticks out his hand. "Well then, lass, it was a pleasure doing business with you."

Krosa rolls her eyes, but takes his hand and says adorably awkwardly "I-um-I'll-" She takes an exasperated huff, gives his hand a shake and settles with "See you sometime," finally meeting his eyes again. She tries to pull her hand away, but he holds it tighter, a thought coming to his mind. She looks at him questioningly. He debates for a moment. _It couldn't hurt, could it?_ His smirk widens into a smile as he uses their clasped hands to tug her closer, his other hand rising to go to her face, as he plans on kissing her. His plan, however, is thwarted when she knees him in the groin and he doubles over in pain.

"What in bloody oblivion was that for?" He grunts, looking up to see her glaring at him.

"What in bloody oblivion were YOU doing?" She says, crossing her arms, glare still in place.

Brynjolf rolls his eyes. "I was just going to blasted kiss you! What did you think I was doing?... Shor's bones that hurts!" He says, groaning in pain.

"Well," she huffs, her face turning beet red as she steps away. "Why were you going to do that?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Obviously not!"

Brynjolf grunts and stands up straight, trying to look her in the eyes, but she refuses to comply. "Well, lass, when a man is attra-"

Krosa groans in disgust. And he laughs.

"What? Surely it's not so bad. It's the natural way of things!"

"Natural or not, it's NOT going to happen."

"Can you blame me for trying?"

Krosa glares at him again, having enough of his teasing. Brynjolf maintains eye contact, knowing he's pushing his boundaries, but he always was one to live on the edge, not playing it safe. He's rather enjoying this, plus she's rather cute when she glares and points it out to her which makes her glare harder.

"Out!" She says, pointing to the door.

"Alright alright, I'm going," Brynjolf says, turning to the door. When he has his hand on the doorknob, he turns around and winks "I'll get one out of you someday, lass, just you-"

"Out!" Krosa shouts, shoving him out the door and slamming it, her face still red. Brynjolf laughs and hears her turn the lock. He can picture her mumbling furiously to herself, cursing him as she does whatever 'important thing' she had to do. Realizing he's still standing there, he gets a hold of himself and walks down the stairs, pleased with how everything went, despite the disappointment of not being able to kiss her. He sees Aiden sitting at a table with their food already on it, chatting the ear off of one of the... larger barmaids, and takes a seat.

"Where's Krosa?" Aiden asks, and Brynjolf can't help but notice how the barmaid makes a speedy retreat.

He shrugs. "Krosa can't make it, lad. She's got important things to do."

"Really? Like what?"

Brynjolf shrugs again, smirking "Doesn't matter." He says, picking up his fork. "Now, lad, are you ready to eat or what? I've been waiting for you for ages."


	12. Avoidance and the Pointlessness Thereof

Krosa was sure to make a point of locking the door after slamming it behind Brynjolf. She runs a hand down her face, hating how hot it feels under her touch. _Damnit_. He's so infuriating! And annoying, too nosy, definitely not trustworthy... Though he did help her with the investigation and was the one responsible for finding out who the Butcher was, but only because he's a busy body, scoundrel, and a thief. She curses him. And herself...but mostly him. Out of everyone she's met so far since-since coming to Skyrim, he's been the most difficult to deal with. Aside from Barbas...and guards, the plethora of daedra, the Jarls…..and- ok, a lot of people in Skyrim are hard to deal with. _I didn't have any of these problems in Cyrodiil._

The worst part about it all is that he's actually not that bad. When he's not acting like a cad at least. He's actually really likable, and that's what makes her the most wary. She knows what people like him are capable of, that they really don't care about anything but themselves. _I'm not going to make that mistake again._ She thinks, her throat clenching at the thought, memories she's long since locked away starting to surface. It gets harder to breathe as invisible hands enclose around her throat, and for one panicking moment, she's back there on the ground in the rain. Fighting for her life, the first time she remembers having to do so. She knows she's not there, not really. But she still can't breathe, the panic clouding over her. She's sure she's going to pass out. She'd welcome it, actually. Surely the nightmares would be better than the memories.

A loud, drunk couple pass by the door, drawing her attention long enough for the oncoming panic to die down, pulling her back into the here and now. Krosa collapses into her bed, not bothering to put out the candles. She occupies her mind with what she plans on doing the next day. If she's going to stay a while longer or leave, what she'd want for breakfast the following day. The menial thoughts soothe her, and soon she falls into a restless sleep.

The next morning, Krosa wastes no time in leaving the city. The small chest of gold is a nuisance to carry, but she'd rather take her chances with bandits on the road than face Brynjolf, or worse, Ulfric, again. She pulls out her map once she leaves the city, wondering where she should go. Even though this is how it's always been, she's starting to find the constant need to leave a town and never come back frustrating. What's she going to do after she's burned all her bridges? She'd rather not leave Skyrim, especially so soon after coming here.

Morthal wasn't too bad, but mostly because there's not a lot of people which also means not a lot of jobs and not a lot of payment. She has yet to go to Solitude and Markarth, both seem like rather large cities. She's passed through Whiterun often, and it looks like a charming town. However, it's definitely one all kinds of people from all over pass through. She feels her face heat up at the thought of running into Brynjolf again. She'd like to avoid that as long as possible. Markarth has a...muddy reputation, but Solitude is where the Imperial's are headquartered. She groans at the thought of dealing with the other side of the war, especially after her encounter with Ulfric. After one more look at the map, she makes up her mind. _Hopefully Markarth isn't as bad as they say._

* * *

 _I'm never coming back here._ Krosa thinks, only two weeks later. As soon as she escaped through the gates with the Forsworn, Madanach offered her a place with them, but there was no way she'd agree to such a thing. The Forsworn are nothing more than barbarians, and apparently, so are the rest of the people within the city. Well, save for Eltrys. But what good did it do him? She feels like she's spitting on his grave, having sided with the Forsworn. But, she only sided with them because it was her only way to escape the mine in one piece, and it took a lot of convincing to make them agree not to kill or harm citizens as they fled the city. And it's not like the guards and city officials were any less barbaric.

Still, though. She feels dirty. Krosa was sure to leave quite a bit of the gold from Windhelm for his family. They'll need it more than she does. She has other means. _I hope they use it to leave._ Krosa thinks, still not sure why they didn't do so already, or why anyone would choose to live in a city like that. _I guess some people just don't have a choice._ The thought rings particularly true in her experience. She comes up to a fork in the road, the only way to see it is the light of a lamp. Despite still being lit, she has to get close enough to practically shove her nose into it to see the faded letters. Her choices are Falkreath or Solitude. Well, there really isn't a choice. She has no desire to face Siddgeir again. She'll take her chances with the Imperials instead.

* * *

"In case Falk didn't make it clear, Solitude owes you a debt of gratitude." The old priest says, eyeing the table where Potema's remains are spilling out of Krosa's makeshift sack.

"He did make it pretty clear," Krosa says as she thinks about the amount of gold she got for the quest. The people of Cyrodiil were stingy with it, mostly using silver and copper in everyday affairs. It was rare that she actually saw gold out on the streets unless she was in the wealthier parts of town. The people of Skyrim, however, don't seem to know the value of gold. They toss it around like it grows on trees. Part of her wonders if she should stockpile on gold here and head back to Cyrodiil to live a life of luxury, but also, it's not as appealing as it probably should be. _What would I even do?_

The old man chuckles "I'm sure he gave you enough coin to make it a burden to carry, but that's the cheap way of showing thanks. I'm surprised they didn't try to make you their Thane, especially with all you've done to help the people before this whole debacle."

"They did. I didn't want it."

"Only an outsider would turn down the title of Thane." He says humorously, shaking his head. "It's most warrior's, or even adventurer's, or I guess anyone's dream. You don't seem to know just what you're missing out on, or how convenient it could be for someone like you."

"I don't want to be someone's personal lapdog, no matter what kind of perks come with it."

"What gave you that idea?" He asks as if what she said was the most absurd, blasphemous, thing he's ever heard.

"What's the problem?"

"A Thane isn't a lapdog. It's a symbol of power and respect. They help the hold, not just go out on a Jarl's personal whim. They're someone the people are willing to put their trust into, to protect them…. I wonder, who was the first to ask you to become their Thane?"

"How do you know this wasn't my first time?" Krosa asks, crossing her arms.

"Someone so set in their opinion, I hope, would have had good reason to come to that conclusion."

"Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath."

"Ah. I see. Not the most….dignified man, or so I've heard. I assume that what he wanted you for was-"

"Doesn't matter. He's not the only reason why I have no interest in being a Thane."

"I suppose it's not my place to question your judgment. You do seem like a reasonable sort, if not a little… unpleasant." Krosa doesn't know what it is about old people, but sometimes they really piss her off.

"Luckily for you, I'm leaving. Have fun with your remains." Krosa says and goes for the door. She hears him bid her goodbye, mumbling something under his breath.

Krosa heads to the Winking Skeever, wanting to get her stuff and get started on the road before it turns dark. The way is full of people chatting excitedly, and kids playing in the streets. She doesn't sense what the old priest does, about how there's a hidden darkness to the place, or darkness drawn to it. Something like that. _His mind's probably decaying as fast as he is._ She thinks, wondering why and how someone could live to be that old and not just want to keel over and die.

Of all the major cities she's been to in Skyrim, Solitude is by far her favorite. In the short two months she's been here, she's noticed a difference. It's not the best place, but the people at least seem a little happier, and definitely more accepting. More like Cyrodiil, minus everyone being copper-pinching snobs. As she walks out the city gates, for once part of her wonders why she's leaving.

* * *

Krosa exits the house of the Gray-Manes, examining the Skyforged, enchanted sword Fralia offered her as a reward for saving Thorald. It's well made and definitely worth a lot, but she may just keep it and sell her current one. It's seen better days. The enchantments she put on it would make up for its obviously well-used state. The enchantment on the skyforge sword seems like some kind of ice enchantment, one she doesn't know what kind. She could destroy it and learn the enchantment, but it's made so well that it'd practically be blasphemy.

 _I'll decide tomorrow._ Krosa thinks, wondering if it was worth it to get involved in the war and make a potential enemy of the Thalmor. All of them who saw her died, but the people of Whiterun are bound to talk about it. _I don't know why I agreed to help_. She had wanted to avoid anything to do with the war, and drawing too much attention to herself. Krosa entertains the idea of leaving but knows that's not what she wants to do. Not only does she like the place, but she also wouldn't know where she would go. Possibly attracting the unwanted attention of a powerful and hated group of angry elves isn't good enough reason to leave. Yet. Even if it does go against everything she was avoiding thus far.

Krosa sighs and looks out at the night sky, the silhouettes of the houses blocking most of her view of it. The sound of crunching leaves and the movement of a shadow in an alley she passes catches her attention. She turns to look, the shadowed figure turning and freezing upon seeing her.

"Krosa? Well, lass, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." A familiar, lilting voice says, and Krosa rolls her eyes. Then she keeps walking. "Wait!" Brynjolf runs to catch up with her. "After all those months apart, you could at least pretend to be happy to see me!" He says, keeping pace right beside her.

"What do you want me to do? Swoon? Faint?"

"Both of which are common occurrences." He says smugly.

"That does tend to happen when one looks at trolls."

He laughs. "Is this your way of telling me that you've fainted at seeing a troll before? And I thought you were made of stronger stuff."

Krosa glares, trying not to crack a smile. He'd read too much into it.

"Don't be embarrassed, lass, it's happened to the best of us." He says, and she nearly elbows him. They walk into the center of the city, and the Bannered Mare comes into sight. She heads towards it when he speaks up again "So, lass, what have you been up to?"

"The usual."

"Do you feel like shaking things up? My guild-"

"No," Krosa says exasperatedly.

He shrugs. "Your loss."

"Is it?"

"Yes indeed, lass."

"Why?" Krosa asks as they enter the Bannered Mare, the sound of the bard's voice mixed with drunken patrons nearly drowning out the question.

"I'll only tell if you agree to join," Brynjolf says, turning just enough to block her way into the rest of the room. He looks so hopeful. And smug. _He must have a lot of faith in his level of charm and good looks._

"Hmm. Bummer. I guess I'll never find out." Krosa says, pushing past him.

"Not the curious sort, then?"

Krosa shrugs "I have better things to do."

"Oh really? And what are they?"

"Sleeping, for one." She says, instantly regretting it. Brynjolf doesn't waste his chance.

"That does sound rather appealing, lass, mind if I join you?"

"No." They reach the bottom of the stairs, and he leans against the wall connected to the railing.

He smirks "You don't mind then?"

"No as in not going to happen." She iterates, mad at herself for not thinking before she spoke. Again.

"Are you sure? You walked into that one far too eagerly, lass. If it were up to me, I'd say you want it more than you're willing to admit."

"I guess it's a good thing that it isn't up to you, then," Krosa says in warning, before heading up the stairs to her room. He takes the hint and bids her goodnight. She doesn't reply, but waves in acknowledgment. _He may be annoyingly flirtatious and smug, but at least he's smart and knows when to back off._ Unlike others she's met. Another reason to like him. For some reason, the thought annoys her.

Krosa doesn't sleep when she gets to her room. Instead, she studies her new sword and gets her old one ready to sell. Brynjolf is right about one thing, it's time to shake things up a little. She's had that sword since she fled Hammerfell, almost two years ago now. Part of her wonders why she held onto it for so long anyway, considering what she used it for, and wonders how it hasn't triggered any of the...episodes like other random things seem to. They seem to be happening more frequently too. In any case, it's not something that she'll miss. She sets the swords aside and puts out the candles before crawling into bed.

* * *

Once Krosa disappears up the stairs, Brynjolf goes to the counter and buys a room for himself. Initially, he was going to start heading back immediately. Mercer hates it when he dallies on a job, and when he and Aiden got back from Windhelm after the whole Butcher thing, he got an earful. At least their haul was more than worth it. Even Vex admitted it was better than her entire month's work. Which, despite winning the bet, was not good news for him. Soon he won't have a guild to return to. _All the more reason to stay._ Brynjolf thinks, wondering what it'll take to convince Krosa to join. _She's just what we need, I'm sure of it!_

The next morning, at an unholy hour, Brynjolf's woken up by something hitting the wall repeatedly. He faintly hears other sounds, voices, and- he groans in frustration. He entertains the idea of banging on his side of the wall and telling them to keep it down but ultimately decides to let them have their fun undisturbed _. At least someone's enjoying themselves._ Brynjolf thinks as he rolls out of bed. Trying to go back to sleep would be pointless, and he wants to make sure to catch Krosa before she leaves. She has a habit of leaving him in the dust. As soon as he gets dressed, he leaves and scowls as he passes the door next to his when someone laughs from inside. _They could at least-_

The door at the end of the hall swings open and Krosa steps out, scowling. She slams the door behind her, then heads down the stairs. He's quick to go down the steps after her, reaching the bottom just as she sits down at a lone table in the far corner, despite the room being relatively empty. She sees him approach and does nothing to stop him. He takes a seat across from her.

"I see that the amorous lovers disturbed your slumber as well as mine." He says humorously.

"I was already awake," Krosa says, sounding exasperated. She looks like she barely got any sleep.

"Truly? Why?"

Krosa doesn't answer, just glares at the wall behind him.

"You're not a morning person, are you lass?"

"No. I like mornings. I hate when people ruin them."

He laughs. "Not a people person then, but that was already obvious."

She turns the glare to him, but he's saved from her retort when the barmaid comes to ask if they want anything to eat or drink. They tell her what they want, and she leaves. Krosa doesn't say anything and returns to glaring at the wall.

"So, lass, what do you plan on doing today? Do you have any other exciting adventures I can join in on?"

Krosa gives him an irritated look before visibly caving. "No. I just got done with one." She says as the barmaid comes back with their meals. When she leaves, Krosa continues. "I'm going to go to the market today. Do some trading. Maybe some training. Something that doesn't need a lot of effort." She pushes the food on her plate around, before taking a bite. He follows suit, and neither of them says anything for a while, both too absorbed with their food. He's surprised when Krosa breaks the silence. "What are you going to do? Do you have more people to steal from?"

"Lass, the only thing I'm going to steal today is your-" She kicks his leg, glaring. He goes back to eating his food, struggling to hide his smile. "I didn't have anything in particular planned. I may just end up following you around."

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Nothing better than you."

Krosa glares. "Are you always this obnoxious in the morning?"

"Only when someone makes it too easy." He says, unable to hide his grin. She rolls her eyes, but he can see the barest hint of amusement on her face.

* * *

"What about this one, lass?" Brynjolf says, holding up a wicked-looking orcish dagger, one He noticed caught her eye as she walked in. She ignores him as she picks up a steel one at the other side of the room.

"Is he bothering you, Krosa?" The owner of the shop, a burly man with a deep voice asks. _So, she is capable of making friends on her own._

"No. He's fine. Just annoying."

"So you'll talk about me, but not to me?" He asks amusedly, putting the dagger down.

"That depends. Will you stop acting like an idiot?" She says, not bothering to look up from the dagger.

"Yes."

"Fine." Krosa walks over and takes the orcish dagger. "You're an ass." She adds, before taking it over to the counter. When she finishes, he opens the door for her and follows her out, giving a friendly wave to the glaring giant behind the counter. He closes the door, and as he takes a step, runs into Krosa.

"Sorry," Brynjolf says, but she doesn't say anything. Or move. "Are you alright, lass ?" He asks when he sees her face frozen in fear.


	13. The Chase

Brynjolf gives her a nudge, which does nothing, so he follows her line of sight. The only thing that stands out is six Alik'r warriors chatting with a citizen not too far down the street.

"Do you know them, lass?" He asks.

Krosa nods slowly, and when she speaks, it's barely above a whisper. "We need to leave. And we can't draw-"

"There!" The Alik'r catch sight of her, and start running. Krosa does the same, nearly running Brynjolf over, but he was quick to move as well. Unfortunately, it's still rather early in the morning, and the crowd is sparse, as the shops have just started opening. He grabs her arm, pulling her into an alley and taking the lead. Luckily for her, he knows all of the back alleys and thief escapes well. He hears shouting not far behind them, and from multiple different areas. _They split up. That's not good._ He thinks, turning a corner and nearly getting his head taken off by one of the Alik'rs curved swords.

 _Shit_. Brynjolf ducks in time, and the man falls as Krosa hurls a crackling bolt of lightning at him that makes his hair stand up on the back of his neck. _That was too close._ They continue, twisting and turning around the houses, barely avoiding more close calls. They make it to a three-story building, and he leads her up a makeshift ladder on the side of it, and onto a hidden cavity between two slopes of the roof. They stop to catch their breath, and he sneaks a peek around one of the slopes. A few of the Alik'r are still running around on the main street like panicked, violent, chickens. They're knocking people over, turning over merchant's stalls, and shouting. And there are still some in the alleys as well. _They_ really _don't want to lose her._

"Quick question, lass, why are they after you?" Brynjolf asks, still panting. When she doesn't answer, he looks back to see her as pale as a sheet. "Krosa, are you alright?"

* * *

 _They found me. They found me. They found me. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit_. The mantra continues until a hand falls on her shoulder, and she jumps, nearly taking out the owner of the hand before realizing it's Brynjolf.

"Woah, lass, calm down." He whispers.

"Sorry. I -" An Alik'r makes an appearance right below them, shouting. Brynjolf shushes her and pulls her further into the crevice. There's no space between them now, and they're practically sharing the same air. Krosa gets nauseous as her lungs fail to work properly. She forces herself to take a deep breath, refusing to breakdown here of all places. Her hand goes to her head, somehow hoping it would help her focus.

"Please tell me you're not going to pass out on me," Brynjolf whispers, and she huffs out a breathless laugh.

"I won't." She cringes at how unassuring it sounded.

"Are you sure, lass? You look-."

"I won't." She says, more firmly than the last time.

"Ok. Why are they after you?"

* * *

There's cheering. A loss. A win. She collapses. A slash to the thigh. Another one lands on another one's chest. She's dripping in sweat, still recovering from the previous fight. Covered in blood. There's a shout. A scream. Another one goes down, then another. They drop like flies. For all their talk, after all that time, they're not as hard to kill as she thought they'd be.

"Don't do this Krosa," he says, backing up. He hits a wall, and his eyes flash in fear. "You know you don't want to do this!" She answers by running him through the stomach, and can't tear herself away from watching the life fade out of his eyes. She stands there for a moment, wiping the blood from her face. He was the last one. _They were preparing me for this. They didn't even know. How did they not see this coming?_ She tries to feel relieved. _This is it_. But there's no time. She has to run.

* * *

"Krosa?" She doesn't answer. Brynjolf lightly touches her arm, drawing her attention back to him. "Look, lass, I need you to work with me." She nods, reigning in her panicked thoughts, shrugging off the effects of the memory. _There's no time._

"Ok. Sorry. What's the plan?"

* * *

"Quick! You have to do something! Those Alik'r men are attacking the marketplace, I even saw a merchant's stall catch on fire! I caught sight of six of them!" Brynjolf says quickly, looking as panicky as he's able. Despite his talent for lying and conversation, this is not something he's good at. He's used to guards doing almost whatever he wanted if not just because he says so, or for the right price.

Luckily, someone running by with a bucket of water to put out the small fire runs past and keeps them from asking questions. The guards run towards the commotion. He signals Krosa to come down from the nearby roof she was watching from. He leads her to one of the thief's exits from the city, the one closest to the stables. Once they're on the other side Krosa speaks up.

"Did you really have to start a fire?"

"It was a small one, lass. No one will get hurt." He says lightly. Krosa gives him a look, "What? I needed something for them to react quickly to. The first group asked too many questions."

Krosa rolls her eyes. Apparently, she still has the ability to judge him despite her disoriented state. _Figures_. They quickly make their way to the stables, which, to their luck only seems to have horses standing about. Not another soul in sight. Brynjolf starts to move for one, but Krosa holds him back by the arm. "I'm not stealing a horse."

"We can return it later." He says, pulling out of her grasp and going to the horse. She follows.

"I'm not getting on a horse."

"Wait, lass, are you... scared of horses?" Brynjolf asks, baffled. It seems wildly out of character for her. As far as he could tell, nothing scares her. _Well, aside from casual social interaction._ This whole event is surprising to him. Rather than being aloof and in control, she seems completely disoriented.

"...No"

"Lass."

Krosa shrugs defensively. "I just don't like them. I'm not great at riding. Can't we just-"

"You can ride with me then. We don't have much time before the guards kick them out of the city, lass. " He unties the horse from the post.

"How do you know they wouldn't just throw them in jail?"

"That could cause a lot of unnecessary foreign problems, lass. And throwing a strong group of warriors known for their cunning and resourcefulness in a rundown cell wouldn't make the city feel safe to the citizens. They're only option is to kick them out and not let them back in." Brynjolf says as quickly as he's able. _Does she really need me to explain everything?_

"So why don't we stay in the city?"

"We just used an unofficial exit. There are more." She hesitates. "Someone's bound to see us soon, lass." He says, hoisting himself into the saddle, holding out his arm to help her up.

"But-"

"Do you want my help or not? I can get you out of here, but you'll just have to trust that I know what I'm doing." For one moment, he's sure that she's going to refuse and take her chances on her own.

"Fine." Krosa huffs, scowling. She gets on, ignoring his outstretched hand. For someone who hates horses and is a terrible rider, she's unusually graceful about it. "But we get off as soon as possible." She adds, and he can feel how tense and uncomfortable she is, even her breathing is shallow, her voice carrying a slight tremble. _Interesting._

"Alright." He says and nudges the horse forward.

* * *

Once they come around the bend, The blockade of trees and boulders come to an end, revealing the expanse of the land far below them. The trees dance in the wind, some shining like gold, others like precious gems. The fallen leaves on the forest floor rustle, and some get carried away with the wind. The sun shines brightly in the middle of the sky, making the already color-changing trees ever more vibrant, and the gleam of the river nearly blinding. Brynjolf slows the horse down to a trot, guessing that she'd enjoy the view if her reaction to snowfall was anything to go off of.

"Can we get off now?" Krosa asks, ruining the moment.

"We've only been riding for a little under two hours, lass."

"And?"

"Don't you want to enjoy the scenery?"

"I'll enjoy it more with my feet on the ground." Brynjolf sighs. _So much for that._

"Very well." He pulls the horse to a stop, and as soon as he does so, she's off and walks a short distance away from the horse. The horse nickers. "I think you've offended him." Brynjolf says, getting off and patting the horse's neck.

"I can live with that," Krosa says, still looking sickly.

"Are you alright? You seem...frazzled."

"What?"

"Fatigued." He says, remembering her struggle with certain words. "And maybe a little unwell. We can take a break if you want."

"No, we can-."

"Well, I need a break. As does Sporis here." Brynjolf says, gesturing to the horse.

"Sporis? Did you name him that?" Krosa asks as she sits on a boulder, clearly not liking the name. He goes to sit next to her, tying the horse to a branch on the tree closest to them.

"Actually, lass, it is his real name. I saw it on the post. Rule number one of horse stealing: know the name of the horse you are stealing."

"Don't you want to win it over first so it doesn't throw you off? "

"First of all, lass, learning their name is a part of that. Another good way is treats, but I don't have any of those. Secondly, I never have to worry about winning one over, like with women." She huffs out a small laugh, and he winks "And last but not least, all horses love a good ride….as do women." Brynjolf adds for good measure. He can't help it, really. _At least it has a positive effect._ He thinks when he sees the color start returning to her face.

* * *

"You're an idiot," Krosa says, amused at his antics.

"A charming one, I hope?" He flashes his 'winning' smile, and Krosa rolls her eyes.

"For now," Krosa says, playing along. Talking to him is actually helping, and she suspects that's why he's doing it. She spots a leaf on the ground, bright green at the center, going through yellow and orange to a soft pink on the rim. She picks it up to inspect it closer, spinning it by its stem.

"I can accept that." Brynjolf shrugs. "It's better than never, at least."

"Enjoy it while it lasts." Krosa looks away from the leaf and to him "Soon your true side will start showing."

"Are you implying that I'm inherently unpleasant?"

"Only when you get too full of yourself, which does seem to happen often."

"Well then, we should get going before that happens, shouldn't we lass?"

Brynjolf gets up, sticking his hand out to help her up. Krosa almost takes it. Almost. Brynjolf seems to shrug it off, but part of her thinks he's actually bothered by it. She tries not to feel too guilty. He may be helping, but it can't be without some kind of motive. There's always something someone wants. _He's probably trying to win me over so I'll join his guild._ It doesn't sound as bad as she thought it would. People have wanted worse. And he's not too pushy about it. Mostly. Once she's on her feet, she drops the leaf, and he goes to untie the horse. He says a few things to it, catching the word "stubborn," before leading it to where she is, being sure to stand between them.

"Where are we going?" Krosa asks soon after they start walking, realizing that she has no idea where they even are. She's sure she's been here before, though. The view looks familiar, despite the shift in colors.

"A small town called Riverwood, near the border of Whiterun and Falkreath holds. Have you ever been there?"

"A few times. Mostly just to pass through, though."

"Same as most people."

"Are you sure it's a good idea to stop there? It's not that far from Whiterun, and now that they know I'm here-." He gives her a look. "I just don't like not knowing what's going on." She says, looking down and away.

"Fair point, lass, and I guess we do have time for the details now. I got frustrated before due to lack of time."

"Sorry."

"I do have to say, though, that I find it odd that you haven't come up with any plans on your own yet."

"I-" Krosa pauses, also wondering why she's relying on him. She's never relied on anyone before. "I guess I just don't- I don't know what to do. I've never- I mean I guess I could go-"

"Say no more, lass," Brynjolf says, and she's grateful he's sparing her the embarrassment of admitting she needs help. "I was planning on getting a cart in Riverwood to take us to Riften and drop the horse off somewhere around the stables so it'd be found. It won't be as quick as riding Sporis, but far better than walking the whole way."

"Walking isn't that bad." Krosa says, dreading a cart ride where all she does is sit. And Brynjolf would probably want to chat. And he'll definitely ask about the Alik'r. _And I_ really _don't want to talk about that._

"So, do you walk everywhere then?" Brynjolf asks, drawing her attention.

"And if I do?"

"Well, you're definitely not lazy. And it explains why you're so… healthy looking." He says, unnecessarily chipper.

"Healthy looking?"

"I was going to say something else but changed my mind. I didn't want to sound like a cad."

Krosa smiles. "So you do have some semblance of control."

"I do indeed, lass. Is that really so surprising?" She doesn't dignify that with an answer.

* * *

Getting to Riverwood doesn't take too long. They get there before it gets dark, and are able to secure a cart ride to Riften after stopping at the tavern and eating. Krosa can tell Brynjolf's curiosity about everything is nearly boiling over, so she makes sure to talk about other, mundane things. It also helps distract herself from thinking about it all and what it means for her.

When they get on the cart, she's glad to see that there are others who will be riding with them. Brynjolf seems less than happy about it, he sits next to her at the very back, feet resting on the bench on the other side to ward off anyone who wanted to sit there. Krosa knows he has enough sense not to try and bring up what the whole Alik'r thing was about with an audience. She tries not to feel too smug. For a while, it seems like he's just going to sit and brood, but it doesn't take long before he starts whispering comments to her about the others in the cart.

Brynjolf points to the beefy man with black hair and warpaint smudged around his eyes who's sitting closest to them. "How much do you want to bet that he's actually a big softie?"

"I'm not placing bets with you."

"Why, lass? Are you scared you'll lose?"

"We both know that you'd be better at it than I would."

"Don't worry, lass, there will be no money involved. The only reward is the satisfaction of being right." Krosa sighs. _I guess it's better than doing nothing._

"Fine."

They do it for a while, him coming up with something and her either agreeing or disagreeing. Once all bets are placed, he actually starts up a conversation with all of them. Krosa only joins in when he directs the conversation to her, going along with whatever he says about them in short answers. It wouldn't do either of them any favors to have contradictions on their story. Even if he's trying to sell the fact that they're married, she's pregnant, and they're making their way to Morrowind so he can pursue his passion in glass-making with his adoptive Dunmer family. The hardest part about it all was refraining from rolling her eyes and scoffing on multiple occasions. The beefy man with the war paint is almost as quiet as she is, only barely answering Brynjolf's questions, and she notices him watching them discreetly. He doesn't seem to buy Brynjolf's story but stays quiet about it.

It's no surprise when they've learned all they can that Brynjolf was right or mostly or almost right about them most of the time, and to his credit, he doesn't seem too smug about it. But the fact that he doesn't have to be might irritate Krosa a little bit. Only a little.

* * *

Brynjolf doesn't even notice he fell asleep until Krosa shakes him awake. He looks around, seeing the others have already gotten off. The sun's just starting to rise, and the driver's waiting impatiently.

"We're here." She says, sounding exhausted.

"How long have I been sleeping, lass?" He asks, doing some stretches to relieve the stiffness of his joints.

"Probably about half the ride."

"Did you get any sleep?"

"I might have dozed off a little." Krosa gets off the cart. That was an outright lie, but he decides against pointing it out.

"Well, that's good." Brynjolf says as he hops off. She starts to head for the city gates.

"We're not going in that way, lass." He says, redirecting her to the east gates, the one rarely used by anyone who doesn't live in Riften. He doesn't trust Baldr to not get paid off by the Alik'r for information on Krosa if they come here. _If only we could afford to cut him out._ She doesn't argue or ask questions, and he sees that as a good sign. They get in without any hassle and soon find themselves in Krosa's room at the Bee and Barb. She looks around the room and scoffs.

"What is it, lass?"

"When I left last time I thought I would never come back here. This is even the same room I stayed in."

"Never come back to this marvelous city? Why not?"

"Oh, you know. The people and the places…. and things."

"Is that all you're going to give me to go off of, lass?"

Krosa shrugs "I don't feel like going into details." Brynjolf has a feeling that there's a good story hidden in there, considering the ones Aiden's already told him about her time here. And things he witnessed for himself, but he leaves her be.

"I guess I'll just have to fill them in for myself, then." Neither of them says anything for a few moments, and Brynjolf can tell that she's waiting for him to leave, but he stays, not wanting to waste this chance.

"Is there still something you wanted?" She asks, getting impatient. After today he's forgotten that she hates drawn out conversations.

"Oh, nothing too bad." Brynjolf says, hoping they're on good enough terms that she won't hate him for it. "It's just, once again it seems like it's time for repayment, lass." Krosa rolls her eyes, which isn't necessarily a bad sign.

"No stealing gold this time first?" Krosa asks, baiting him with a small smile.

"It didn't really work out very well last time." He says, shrugging. She reaches for her pouch.

"I don't have much on me, so you'll have to settle for-"

"I'm not talking about gold, lass." He says suggestively, intending for her help in doing a job, one that Mercer's been on his case for.

"I'm not sleeping with you if that's what you mean."

Brynjolf sputters "That's not what I meant! Really-I meant-not-" He can feel his face turning red as he looks at her in horror. _I would never-_

Krosa laughs outright, the sound shocking him as he realizes he's never actually heard her laugh before.

He levels her with a mock glare "You did that on purpose?" Only after saying it does he realize he sounds like a petulant child and inwardly cringes.

Still laughing, she says "I was giving you a taste of your own medicine. How does it feel?"

Determined not to be outdone, Brynjolf saunters closer, taking a lock of her hair between his fingers. He leans in and says seductively "If you want to play dirty, love, I'll play dirty."

Her face turns as red as a ruby, and she shifts uncomfortably before she levels him with a glare and swats his hand away. "Ass." He lets out a small laugh and takes a step back.

"You're the one who started it, lass. Don't get involved in something you can't handle." He says, ready with a quip that could counter anything she could say in her defense.

Instead, she just says "Point taken."

Ok. Brynjolf was prepared for anything but that. He had expected her to retaliate, offended at the prospect that she couldn't handle dealing or flirting with him. He can see her walls shoot up, her arms crossing, weight shifting into her defensive stance. _What did I do wrong?_ This woman will be the death of him with her open and closed state happening randomly. Knowing that there's no way to continue similar conversations, he says

"Well, back to the more serious matter at hand, what I meant to do was offer you a job." He doesn't miss the small grateful look she gives him at the change in subject.

"I'm not joining your guild either," Krosa says in the same no-nonsense tone as before.

"Also not what I meant, lass. Just one job."

"You better not be trying to 'give me a feel of your line of work' by getting me to steal something." It is what he was trying to do, but he's not going to let her know that.

"Now now, stop getting ahead of yourself, lass." He puts his hand over his heart "I would never do such a thing!" She gives him a disbelieving look that he ignores. "I just have a job available and could use an extra pair of hands."

"Does it involve stealing?"

"And what's wrong with that? I've seen you do it before."

"What?"

"Oh yes, you're not as sneaky as you think you are."

"How-When-"

"Oh, I'm not telling you. That would give you a way to avoid me catching you. It's one of the reasons I've been so invested in getting you to join."

"Invested?"

Brynjolf drops the playful act and says "I'm not one to miss out on a golden opportunity, lass, and while I do honestly enjoy your company more so than others, I can't help but think of the good you'd bring to my dwindling guild. I can want you in more ways than one." He doesn't know where the last part came from, but can't find a reason to feel guilty about it or take it back. It is true after all. He's not dense enough not to realize his level of attraction to her, and habit doesn't let him stay quiet about it. He does start to feel a little regretful when he sees her reaction.

* * *

Krosa can feel her heat rising, and not just in discomfort, but in anger as well. She can deal with his playful flirting because that's all it is. This is him being serious or at least pretending to be. Or thinking he is if she's being nice. He may say he enjoys being with her outside of the sheets, but all he has is his attraction and sexual desire. Even she knows she's difficult to deal with and has the personality of a hagraven. Sometimes it' on purpose. He definitely wouldn't even be as interested as he claims to be if he didn't like the look of her face or shape of her body. Aside from that, he's only with her, only helped her, and is only friendly with her to get her to join his guild. He has no actual interest in her. _He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what he's dealing with._ She's tired of people only seeing something in her that they can use for their own gain.

"And you say I talk bullshit." She says, her annoyance laced into every word.

"I'm only being honest, lass. Would you rather I lie?" Brynjolf says defensively, and Krosa can tell he's trying to hide his shock at the intensity of her reaction.

"Don't pretend like you actually like me." He looks unimpressed.

"What makes you think I don't?" He asks, smirk in place. Eyes gleaming.

"You don't know me."

"I want to," Brynjolf says, taking a small step closer. Krosa can feel her heart beat faster, her blood rushing. She refuses to give ground.

"You don't know what you want."

"Don't I?" He takes another step closer, looking at her intently, eyes dropping to her mouth for a moment before remaking eye contact. Asking for permission. Krosa hesitates, infuriated by how tempted she is to give in, to see if this is what she's missing. If it's what she needs. Her previous reasoning fading away as her anger is replaced with doubt. _Would it really be so bad?_ He's definitely better than the others who have wanted her this way. She does enjoy his company. Most of the time. Like he said a long time ago, it's a natural thing. People do it all the time, want it all the time. It doesn't have to be as personal as she thinks it is. It can be a casual fling, a relief for herself as well as him. But she can't bring herself to. She won't.

"No. You don't." Krosa takes a small step back, needing to draw a line between them. Her annoyance is rekindled, but this time more at herself than at him. She's the problem. She sees that now. This is definitely something she'll never want. Something she can never see herself doing, not after that first time. Just imagining it makes her want to run for the hills. _How can people just give themselves away like that?_ Without worry or a care in the world. It seems too much like selling herself into someone else's service. Letting them do what they will with the only thing that's ever truly belonged to her, that she's had control over, leaving her in a vulnerable position, trusting that they don't-

"Do you even know what you want?" He asks, shattering her churning thoughts.

"Yes. And it's not this." Krosa says, quieter than she'd like. She's done with this. All she wants to do now is forget about all this and sleep if it'll even come. Even with the nightmares. At least that's something she can handle, something she understands. Knows she can recover from.

"That didn't sound very convincing, lass."

"I don't care. It's the truth." For a moment she thinks he's going to go for it anyway and is terrified of what she'd do if he did. Not even she knows. But she underestimated him. Again. He steps back, giving her much-needed space.

"Alright then…. Do you want me to leave?" Krosa considers it for a moment, considers everything. He looks sincerely apologetic, humble even. She can feel herself caving, and is only mildly annoyed.

"I'll do your job on one condition."

"At this point, I'll take anything, lass. Well, almost."

"No more of what just happened."

"Alright." He says, without hesitation. "I'm sorry I-" Krosa waves him off. She doesn't need to hear it. His look, his tone, everything really, seems more real, more sincere than he's ever been before. _He may be a cad, but he's not nearly as loutish as I expected him to be._ He might have actually thought that she was considering him the same way and only acted because of that. Once again, he may not have been as wrong as she'd like. For a moment she did.

"I get it. Other people might welcome it or feel flattered or- something, but I don't. I'm not-"

Brynjolf nods. "Don't worry, lass, it won't happen again."

"Good." Krosa takes a deep breath, glad that's over. Somehow she doesn't doubt him. She shrugs off the uncomfortable, nagging feeling and asks "What's the job?"


	14. Sitting Pretty

Brynjolf calls out to another potential customer, drawing their attention and successfully convincing the woman to buy Ingun's newest creation he named 'Falmer Blood Elixir.' It's nothing but the usual, a few harmless ingredients mixed with water or some alcohol that causes some effect to keep people coming back for more. It was actually kind of enjoyable to work with Ingun on it, surprisingly. For such a young lass, she sure has a rather defined morbid sense of humor and enthusiasm that makes even Brynjolf wary of her. Part of him thinks Krosa would get along well with her. She seems to have a similar sense of humor, drier though than Ingun's. She's also far more accepting than most people which surprises him. Most of her type seem overly critical and self-righteous. _Like Mjoll._ He thinks and hopes she doesn't actually try to run them out of the city, for her own sake. Their guild may be failing, but at least they have Maven Blackbriar at their back, which is the only good thing about that woman.

His mind turns to Krosa, and inevitably back to the night before. Or earlier that day, depending on how he looks at it. Brynjolf was sure he was getting somewhere with the lass, her side-long glances, their playful banter, her actually being friendly with him, her relying on him, all adding up to it. _Did I misinterpret everything?_ He thought he considered all possibilities, but apparently, he was wrong. Again. He's seen his fair share of women playing hard to get, but this is the first one that actually, naturally, is hard to get. And of course she has to be the one he's been the most interested in as of yet, and not just physically. Unlike other women he's been with, aside from Sapphire, Vex, and Tonilia, he thinks they're something akin to actual friends. Most of the time it's a meet, greet, and into the sheets kind of thing before they go their separate ways, sometimes doing it again if they come across one another. Maybe some occasional conversation and learning about each other personally is thrown in as they get to learn how to gratify each other sensually. But never more than that.

Krosa's different though. He might have suspected it before, but he knows it now. She has an actual personality. She doesn't bend to anyone's will. She's not too whimsy or strictly business. It's hard to classify her as anything. Part of her allure was and still is, if he's being honest, her ambiguity. Despite the disappointment of not being able to pursue her sexually, he looks forward to developing their friendship, even if it's no more than that. _At least I didn't wholly tarnish our relationship._ Brynjolf thinks, still mildly embarrassed with their encounter last night. _It's a good thing she's the forgiving and reasonable sort._ He remembers some of their previous conversations. _For the most part._ Though he suspects that interactions will be awkward between them for a while, Brynjolf can feel himself mentally cringing as he imagines it. _I'll definitely have my work cut out for me._

A customer coming up and asking a question about the potions draws his attention. Speaking of which, he refocuses on the task at hand. Getting into the rhythm of buying and selling eventually fully occupies his mind, and Brynjolf's glad for it. Mercer told him that the stall doesn't fare nearly as well when someone else manages it while Brynjolf does a job. As flattering as that is, Brynjolf also knows it means that he'll be getting less and less jobs. Everyone's been busting their asses to bring in more coin to keep the guild afloat, but he can see the signs of some of them overextending themselves, which won't lead to anything good. Frustration is a familiar feeling within the guild now, and the way stress is relieved isn't always enjoyable. Several fights have broken out already, and Mercer's had to physically throw someone out once. Brynjolf could count it as a blessing that he spends most of his time out here now. _At least the stall's helping us start paying off our debt to Maven._ It isn't a lot, but it's enough to make it at least look like they're going to pay it all back eventually.

* * *

Krosa pushes the food around on her plate, before tentatively eating a forkful, not really having an appetite, but knowing she should eat. It doesn't help that the food is so bland and mushy. She wonders if it's even rabbit she's eating, and not something else, like skeever. _It wouldn't be that unbelievable._ The thought makes her put her fork down and push the plate away. She may be better off attempting to make her own food while she's here.

"I'll finish that if you don't." A haggard old lady says from the next table over. Krosa gives it to her gladly, before downing the rest of the water in her cup and going to her room as quickly as she's able. The old woman looked like she was one day away from death, and her voice had the same low, gravelly tone as a dying troll. Krosa shudders at the memory. She never understood how someone could live for so long, especially in that state. And she thought the priest guy from Solitude was old.

 _I guess I have to go to meet Brynjolf._ Krosa thinks ruefully, as she gathers all of her things. She had been avoiding it as long as possible, dreading the awkwardness that's bound to happen. _Why did I agree to this?_ She didn't consider the consequences. Krosa grabs her last dagger and puts it in place before heading out the door. It's past noon, and the marketplace is as crowded now as it was when she was here before. And it's just as daunting. _There's too many people in such a small space. It's no wonder that so many people here are poor._ She makes her way to where Brynjolf said his stall was, and can sometimes hear his voice over the crowd. Soon he comes into view, handing a potion to a customer before putting the money from the sale into a strongbox as the customer walks away. He sees her approach.

"It's good to see you, lass," Brynjolf chirps when she comes up to the counter of his stall. "You're late."

"No, I'm not," Krosa says, knowing full well that even she would consider this late.

"We agreed on noon." He says, closing and locking the strong box, before pulling more potions out from under the stall and putting them on the counter.

"We agreed sometime around noon."

"And three hours after is around it?"

Krosa shrugs. "You should have been more specific."

"Did you sleep well, at least?"

"Well enough. When do we get started?" Krosa asks quickly, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. She needs to do something. She can feel her nerves fraying at not only the crowd but also with her proximity to Brynjolf and trying to seem unbothered.

"When I gather the crowd," Brynjolf says lowly, showing her a potion bottle as if he's trying to sell it to her. "Try to blend in for now, but stay near Madesi's stall."

Krosa nods, saying a little louder than usual that she may buy one later that day if she has any money left. She goes first to the weapon and armor stall halfway across this side of the marketplace. She slowly makes her way over to Madesi's stall, inspecting goods, asking questions, occasionally making a small purchase. When she's the next stall over from Madesi's, Brynjolf finally calls out.

"Everyone! Everyone! Gather 'round! I have something amazing to show you that demands your attention!"

Krosa slowly walks over with the rest, being sure to fall to the back. As soon as she's sure no one's watching, she casts her invisibility spell. _This is going to be easy._ She quickly makes her way to Madesi's stall, knowing she's going to need to make up for lost time. The stall's sliding door was easy enough for her rusty skills, but the lockbox proved to be more of a challenge.

"Patience, Brand-Shei, this is a rare opportunity, and I wouldn't want you to get left out." She hears Brynjolf say, and somehow it seems like he was speaking to her. She takes a breath and tunes out the rest of the conversation to focus.

Krosa finally gets it, and relief washes over her. _That took_ way _longer than it should have._ She quickly grabs the ring, only a little tempted to grab the gems and gold coins in there. _Being around Brynjolf must be rubbing off on me_. She stays crouched as the invisibility spell fades, and casts it again, not wanting to take her chances. Planting it on Brand-Shei also proved to be a challenge. The damned Dunmer never seems to stop moving. When she finally gets it in his pocket, she quickly walks away, letting the invisibility spell fall when she passes by one of the posts in front of a house. She then goes to lean against a post of a building nearby, one in Brynjolf's line of sight. He doesn't look at her, but she knows he saw her.

He puts his show to an end, and a small crowd remains around the stall as the rest return to their previous dealings. Apparently, Brynjolf's claims didn't seem as far-fetched and ridiculous to some people. _Are they really that stupid?_ Some people pass her, saying similar things, and Krosa's glad to know that not everyone in the town are mindless dolts. She goes around the marketplace, and from the meat stall, she witnesses the guards arresting Brand-Shei. Brynjolf assured her he'd only be in jail for a couple of days, to send him a message. It's better than other things she's had to do. She'll be sure to buy something from him when he gets out to make up for it. Krosa goes around the other side of the marketplace, before deciding that enough time has passed.

"Well done, lass!" Brynjolf says when she makes her way back to him "Looks like I chose the right person for the job. Even I lost sight of you." He leans over the counter flirtatiously. Krosa knows it's only for show, she's seen him flirt his way into people's pockets several times already. However, she still finds herself irritated by it. "How did you do it?" He asks with a wink. Krosa rolls her eyes.

"I'm a mage, Brynjolf. It should be obvious."

"You- You know an invisibility spell, lass?" He asks incredulously. Krosa nods. "I thought those could only be learned by talented mages." She raises her eyebrow. "Not that I think you're not talented," he continues, fingers tapping the counter "I just didn't know you were- I'm not helping my case, am I?" Krosa shakes her head, trying not to be too amused. "In my defense, you seem more of a warrior than a mage. I've only seen you use lightning and an ice spell. Oh, and that neat light trick."

"I usually don't need to use more than that. The weapons I enchant are usually more than enough to-"

"You enchant your own weapons, lass?"

Krosa nods. "And almost everything I own. Enchantment is the school of magic I use the most, but I'm most adept at destruction, or so I've been told."

"So your fire sword-"

"I got rid of the fire sword when I got this one," Krosa says, unsheathing it enough to show him, glad that there's something interesting to talk about to ward off awkward conversations and silences and his casual flirtatiousness. "I don't know the enchantment, it's some ice one, but I don't want to destroy it to learn it since it's-

"Skyforge steel. Can I see it?"

"You better not try to steal it." Krosa says, pulling it out and holding it over the counter, only half joking. Despite her short time with it, she's grown attached to it. Brynjolf shoots her a disapproving look as he takes the sword from her.

* * *

"Who gave you this?" Brynjolf asks, marveling at the craftsmanship of it. Its hilt is wrapped in a leather stained a dark, almost purple red with light blue inscriptions along the edge of the wrappings. The crossguard and pommel of the sword resemble the usual Nordic blade, but more elaborate. The blade itself is the most interesting part, one edge is sharp and curved for slashing, with a notch in it for disarming, the other edge straight and blunt until it tapers into a fine point. The blade itself seems to be a pale, shimmering blue and is cold to the touch. It's probably the most well-made sword he's seen. Practical and beautiful. _It suits her._ Now he wants to see it in action.

"It was a reward for a job I did in Whiterun," Krosa says, drawing his attention back to her. Brynjolf hands her the sword as he says

"Must have been some job."

"It was."

"What kind of enchantments do you know?" He asks, wondering if he could get her help in enchanting a few of his own items.

"Useful ones."

"Well, that's a given, lass," Brynjolf says, amused and exasperated. As charming and clever her short answers always are, he's always been one for details. And he's sure she does it just to annoy him.

"You'd be surprised at some of the enchantments mages come up with."

"Oh?"

"Some are similar to what you claimed your 'Falmer Blood Elixir' can do." She says playfully, giving him a pointed look.

"On the contrary, lass, everything that can 'do' would be very useful, if it worked."

"That's my point." Brynjolf laughs then grabs a bottle and holds it out to her, keeping up the charade. Krosa takes it, their fingers brushing.

"You got me there, lass, but now I'm curious as to the ones that do work, but you deem aren't useful."

"Let's just say some are more for pleasure rather than survival."

"I'd say pleasure is a great way of surviving," Brynjolf says, leaning slightly more forward.

"Of course you would." Krosa puts the bottle back on the counter, a little harder than she should have.

"I'm just saying, lass, that pleasure makes surviving worth it." Brynjolf says in his playful tone, then stands straight realizing that he was getting too carried away. _I hope that doesn't happen too often._

"How so?"

"What's the point of merely surviving without enjoying yourself?" He asks, losing his flirtatious tone "You'll stay alive just to make it through the next day, every day until you end up dying anyway? That's a terrible way to live."

"It works well enough for me." Brynjolf, for all his attempts to make light conversation, can't help but feel sorry for her. It also makes him wonder, what exactly, made her this way. _It's bound to be some story._ And probably not a pleasant one.

"And that's why you're so ornery." He says matter of factly. Krosa shoots him a withering glare. Brynjolf shrugs. "It's the truth, lass. One day you may find yourself completely alone, dying, having burned all your bridges, cut off everyone you've ever known, wasted all your opportunities, and all you'll have to say for yourself is 'at least I survived this long.' Does that sound appealing to you?" At the expression on her face, he relents, sighing heavily as he massages his temple with his hand. He got carried away again. _Will I ever not say or do the wrong thing around her?_ "I'm sorry, lass. I-

"Save it."

"No, I really didn't-"

"No, it's not-" Krosa sighs, shifting her weight and crossing her arms. "You're right. I've had a few thoughts not too long ago about that, actually. But I- it's just not how I-" She huffs in frustration. "I've never really known anything different. I don't know...how to-"

"I can help with that," Brynjolf says before realizing what it could sound like to her. While he's still open to the idea, she hasn't given any indication of changing her mind. As quickly as he can, he adds "Not in a- well, I mean I didn't necessarily-"

"I know." Brynjolf nearly sends a prayer of thanks to one of the nine divines.

"So what are you going to do now?" He asks, wondering if now is an appropriate time to remind her of his offer to join the Guild. It seems like she needs it as much as he does.

"I'm going to go around town and look for jobs."

"I can give you a few names and places if you want, lass," Brynjolf says, trying to stifle his disappointment. She considers it for a moment longer than he'd have liked, but he's unusually glad when she says

"Alright."

* * *

Krosa returns to Brynjolf's stall when all the shops start closing, having found a job that'd be worthwhile — retrieving a sword from a Dwemer ruin for a man who wants to return it to his lover, or the person he wants to be his lover. Considering the man's anxious jittering, she assumes it's the latter. She's done plenty of retrieving lost items, but it was rarely in Dwemer ruins. Only the most daring of adventurers seem to go there. Even she's only been in two of them for different jobs, and they weren't as massive as the man claimed Mzinchaleft is.

Brynjolf sees her approach and meets her halfway. They start heading for the Bee and Barb to eat. Krosa was wary of accepting his offer at first, but she has a sneaking suspicion that he's trying to make up for before. And she rarely turns down the offer of free food. They enter the Bee and Barb, neither of them having said much as of yet.

"Did you find a job, lass?" He says, breaking their awkward silence as they sit down at a table.

"Yes. Retrieving a sword from a Dwemer ruin."

"A Dwemer ruin? That should be exciting."

"You're not coming," Krosa says, not wanting to have to look out for anyone while in one. Even if they were small, the ruins she has been in were still deadly. She does not doubt that he wouldn't be a burden, but still...she doesn't want to take that chance. Or be alone with him for an unnecessary length of time.

"I wasn't planning on it." He says, matter of factly, and things get quiet again until the barmaid comes to ask what they want. Krosa wants to die.

"Where's Aiden?" She says, tracing the faded pattern on the side of the table.

"He's out on a job with another member of the guild."

"So, you're not training him anymore?"

"I am, mostly. I've just finished teaching him the basics. He's on a different level of training now." Krosa looks up from the table.

"Do all recruits get trained like that?"

"Not necessarily. We test their skills and teach them new ones or get them to improve in certain areas. Aiden's starting with next to nothing, so he needs more attention than one with more experience would. That, and he's Aiden."

Krosa smiles. "Well, I was impressed with him in Windhelm."

Brynjolf rolls his eyes, a smile growing on his face as he says "Oh, he told me _all_ about that. Multiple times. Said it was the best thing that's ever happened to him. The lad liked you enough before, but now it seems you're his personal hero. It's a good thing I'm not the jealous type."

"Are you exaggerating?" Krosa asks suspiciously, not understanding why Aiden would get so attached to her so quickly. She didn't go out of her way to be nice and friendly with him. She was mostly reserved and...ornery.

"Not at all, lass, he was very disappointed when you barely talked to him afterward and left without a goodbye." _That sounds more accurate._

"When will he be back?"

"A few more days I'd imagine. How long are you going to be away on your job?"

"It shouldn't take more than two weeks."

The food comes, and they busy themselves with eating. She ordered what Brynjolf did, hoping that he'd know what's safe to eat on the menu. It turns out he has a similar taste as she does. Some sort of steak with mashed potatoes and quite a bit of savory seasoning, with some kind of cinnamon-flavored sweet roll covered in an even sweeter dressing and, surprisingly, water. _I'll have to remember this for next time._

"I'm sorry, lass," Brynjolf says when they finish eating "but I have to ask." Krosa signals for him to go on, the tone of his voice piquing her curiosity "Is there really nothing I can do to convince you?"

"No." Krosa says, knowing what he means. She's surprised he managed to wait for so long before asking. However, she's irritated to realize that for the first time she's sorry for saying it. Which is not a good sign.

Brynjolf lets out a deep, disappointed sigh "Well, that's unfortunate." He says, leaning back into his chair, eyes glued to the table, frowning in thought. After a while of neither of them saying anything, and when it becomes evident to Krosa that he doesn't plan to leave, she asks

"Why are you still here?"

"What?"

"I'm not joining your guild."

He squints in confusion. "You already said that, lass." His eyes go wide before he says "Wait...Are you saying you think I've only befriended you because I've been after you to join my guild?"

"That and the...other...thing," Krosa says, hoping her face doesn't heat up.

"I'm offended." He actually sounds offended.

Krosa shrugs. "It's what you talk about most often."

"I also talk about how impressive you are, lass." Krosa looks away, knowing for a certainty that her face is now turning at least a little red, despite her effort not to let it happen. Brynjolf continues as if he didn't notice. "As I said before, I enjoy your company no matter how far and few in between our encounters have been. You're reliable, efficient, and talented. Naturally, I'd want someone like you to join my guild. I don't ask people who I don't respect, but I assure you, lass, that my interest isn't just a ploy to get you to do what I want. I would like for us to be friends, or unlikely allies at the very least if that's what you'd prefer."

Krosa's silent for a while, her head reeling. Her abilities have been praised before, several times over. That's nothing new. However, she also usually receives compliments of her skills, followed by an insult to her character. The only people close to a friend that she has had has only been due to necessity or similar circumstances. If Brynjolf means what he says, then he's the first to see beyond her talents and chooses to like her. He does sound sincere, and his eyes were honest. _This is annoying._

"Why are you so concerned with it?" She asks, not believing that she's asking, and knowing what it means. At his confused expression, she adds "The guild I mean. If it fails, you can just-"

"The guild is my life, lass."

"You've never wanted a different one?" Krosa asks, not understanding his dedication to it.

"Not for a long time."

"So you don't know anything else?" Krosa could understand that, at least.

"Not exactly." He says, crossing his arms "I could survive well enough without it, as can most of the others. But for some of them, it's all they have. Those of us that are left are practically like a family now. We stick together. I owe it to them, and to the man who saved me and brought me into it to try." _He sure is passionate about it._ Krosa tries to remember a time when she felt as strongly for something as he did, and finds herself sorely lacking. Though, they do have one thing in common, if she forgets everything that happened after.

"What did he save you from?" She asks hesitantly, mostly to fill the silence. He eyes her, studying her to discern the purpose behind the question. It's all she can do not to break eye contact.

"Now that is a story for a different day, lass." _That's fair._

"How is it run?"

"What?"

"Your guild. How does it work?" He straightens ever so slightly as he says

"Well, it's run like a business. There's a Guildmaster that runs things and makes all major decisions. He gets a small cut out of everyone's job earnings. There are different types of jobs one can do, and those are run by different people. The guild itself gets a cut, as well as the person doing and offering the job. The person who accomplished it, of course, gets the largest cut, but usually not by much. Especially now." Krosa considers everything, only mildly annoyed that she is, before deciding she'll think about it on her job. When she's far from Brynjolf. She doesn't want to make any hasty decisions. He breaks her thoughts when he hesitantly asks "So..are you? Interested? Is that what-"

"We'll see." After the hopeful, happy, and she wishes she could say smug look he gives her, she adds "Don't get your hopes up."


	15. A Recipe For Disaster

Brynjolf blows another dusting of snow off his shoulder as he puts a crate of Ingun's new brew under the stall. He has yet to think of a name for it but is sure that he wants it to have something to do with the changing seasons. And maybe sell it as something that could let one see one of the daedric princes' realms. Ingun said the effects of it would cause a tingling feeling as they start to hallucinate lightly, so adding that ability to it wouldn't be too far-fetched. Ingun had tried it and said it was an other-worldly experience. After the Falmer Blood Elixir sold out, more people than he would like were not satisfied, and more people are growing suspicious. _I shouldn't have gotten so carried away with it._ Even a charlatan such as himself needs to be able to put enough merit behind his words, or his words won't cut it. Though, it was rather amazing how long he was able to sell it before the inevitable happened. This new one would be the third of their creations, and Brynjolf has high hopes for it.

The only high points of his week have been working with Ingun and a quick tumble with one of the priestesses of Mara. Who was actually quite skilled. Brynjolf was pleasantly surprised. Usually, he doesn't go for the religious types, but he needed to let out the pent up energy. Maybe part of the thrill was due to the secrecy of it. Devout worshippers of Mara aren't supposed to _fraternize_ before marriage. He may visit her again.

"Excuse me, sir." A thick accent from behind Brynjolf interrupts his thoughts. He turns to see who it is, surprised that he didn't feel or hear anyone approach. Even more so when he sees who it is. The Alik'r. Four of them. And he can't tell if they're the same ones from Whiterun. At this moment more so than others, he is glad that he has plenty of experience keeping a straight face. His initial reaction was nearly to high tail it out of there with the same amount as urgency Krosa did. _Why was I not informed of their arrival?_ Aiden probably got distracted. After getting back from his job with Delvin, the lad frequently daydreams, of what Brynjolf has no clue. It could be anything. _At least Krosa's out of the city._ He thinks, glad for that lot of good luck. Krosa's return and possible interest in the guild has been one of the only things he's actually looking forward to. He can only hope that they don't linger and ruin everything.

"Ah, I'm sorry to disappoint, lads." He says in his merchant's voice. "We're only setting up shop for the remainder of the day, but we'll be ready for-"

"We're not interested in your wares, sir." One of them says after exchanging glances with the others. "We're looking for someone, and hear you're the one to talk to." The leader pulls out a rolled piece of paper from some sort of metal tube. He'd heard that the people of Hammerfell still prefer scrolls over parchment paper, but he's never seen an authentic one yet. They unroll the scroll, letting it hang in front of his face. "Have you ever heard about or come across this woman?"

It's all Brynjolf can do not to react to Krosa's face painted on it. However, he does let himself react to the bounty on her head. He whistles.

"That's a lot of gold for one woman. What'd she do?" He asks lightly.

"She murdered fourteen people."

* * *

The unmistakable smell of oil and rust is already starting to give Krosa a headache. Not to mention the loud sound of steam and pounding of the gears or pumps or whatever's making that noise. So far, it's a lot like the ones she's already been in. From the outside, she could tell that the guy who gave her the job told the truth about the size of it. She's never had as much trouble taking out bandits as she did with the ones at the entrance. There were so many dips and crevices and levels that they could hide in. It was to her luck that they seemed to be drunk. As most bandits in Skyrim usually are. Krosa turns a corner and can start to smell something else. Something more pleasant. _Is someone cooking?_ She slows down, and when she nears the next corner, she hears voices.

"Lying little harlot." A gruff, slightly slurred voice says "That brat ain't mine, could be anyone's! She won't be getting one septim out of me."

"I still can't believe you were with that bitch anyway. I'd have slit her throat long ago."

"I should've. All she ever did was complain. Maybe I'll do it if she ever comes after me again." _It looks like Skyrim won't miss them._

Krosa sneaks up, staying close to the wall. They're sitting next to each other, neither of them facing the entrance. Either they're stupid, or arrogant. _Works well enough for me._ She makes quick work of them. They don't get a chance to call for help. She approaches the pot over the fire, tempted to help herself to the stew they were cooking. Unfortunately, drops of their blood have found its way into it. _It was a stupid idea anyway_. Though, if she's hungry enough to consider it, she should probably eat soon. _Hopefully this won't take too long._

There were more bandits along the way, definitely smarter and stronger than what she's encountered before, but having only to fight off one or two of them still makes it relatively simple. More than that, and there would have been a problem. One of them did manage to cut into her leg, leaving a nasty gash. Krosa heals it enough so it won't hinder her, annoyed that she's only just started and already sustained a potentially dangerous injury. She drinks one of her less potent health potions. Who knows what else she'll come across here. She'll need to be at her best.

As she delves deeper and fights off bandit after bandit, she starts to see more and more of the dwarven spheres and spiders. After a particularly hard fight with three of the spheres, Krosa stops to take a break and eat. As she pulls apart her rations, her mind wanders back to her last conversation with Brynjolf.

 _Am I really interested in joining his guild?_ Krosa never thought about joining anything before. The closest she's gotten was the College of Winterhold, which is for learning, not to make coin. She doesn't _need_ to join up with anyone. She makes enough doing what she already does. And, she'd definitely be rusty in her thieving skills. If she's being honest, the biggest reason she'd join would be because of Brynjolf. Krosa can see him as someone she could become friends with. It'd also be nice not to be alone for even a little while. But there's also the problem of trusting others.

A guild full of thieves seems like a terrible place to make friends. Any one of them could turn around and stab each other in the back for the right amount of coin. However, Brynjolf seems to like who he works with, and he's not like that, at least as far as she can tell. And maybe getting closer to him isn't such a great idea, if that first night in Riften was anything to go by. She likes him more than she'd care to admit. Which is probably a feeling many people have about him. And also a problem. He reminds her too much of- _But he isn't him. There are differences_ \- but that may just have to do with circumstances. _If Brynjolf were to-_ She doesn't even want to think about that. Krosa gets up and continues her trek through the ruins.

* * *

 _That can't be right_. Brynjolf thinks, struggling not to react in any way that would give his association with her away. They continue, hopefully oblivious to his struggle. "We've been trying to track her down since she fled Hammerfell two years ago."

"How do you know it was her that did it?" Brynjolf asks, sure that there must be some mix-up _. She could have been framed_. Krosa doesn't seem like the murdering type. But, she hardly seems like a thieving type either, and he saw her swipe the elven dagger from Grelka's stall before her brawl with Hofgrir, as well as a few small things as they went around Whiterun. It was almost as if it was natural for her. She hardly seemed to notice she was doing it. And she does have a temper, and death and gore hardly seem to bother her. And she probably has had to kill in her travels. She had no qualm killing the bandits that ambushed them. _But it just doesn't seem right._

"It wasn't done in secret."

"Can I get you to elaborate?" He asks, wanting to get everything he can out of them. Krosa's less than forthcoming, and he needs to know all he can to be able to help her. He can only hope that she'll be understanding. They give him a questioning look full of suspicion. "Look, lads, if you want me to be able to keep an eye or ear out for her, I'll need to know more than that to go off of. Her past life, possible associates, places she might go. I'm sure you get the drift." He says, crossing his arms, and showing them he means business. _I can't show too much interest. This isn't personal._

"She was a fighter in the Hegathe Arena. It was put up after the Imperials renounced Hammerfell from the Empire. Anyone who wanted to fight and not associate themselves with the Empire would go there." Brynjolf had heard about it, some of the guild members even placed bets there along with the one in the Imperial City, before money became tight. He never did. The thought of relying solely on word of mouth isn't a way he likes to place bets, especially with something as unpredictable as arena fights. He wonders if she was there when that was going on and if any of the others have heard of her. "She somehow managed to work her way up to Grand Champion. No one expected it. Her matches were always unpredictable. Whenever she did win, it was only barely. One year later at the next Grand Tournament, after winning the final match, she went crazy."

* * *

The Falmer's blood sprays into her face, and she has to keep from gagging as she gets a taste of it. The Falmer falls off the ledge, and two more take its place, snarling as they attack her in a ravenous frenzy. Another one comes at her from behind, and soon she's barely struggling to stay standing. She kicks the one behind her off the ledge as another one lunges towards her, managing to knock her onto her back. Their mutilated, slimy faces are just as horrifying up close as they are from far away, and whatever that smell is nearly makes Krosa hurl. It tries to take a bite into her neck, but she manages to shove it off. It almost falls, but its claws manage to dig into her shoulder as he tries to climb back up. She chops its arm off with her dagger. It screeches as it falls, and Krosa hears the sickening thud of it landing. She throws its arm down to it.

 _Was that the last of them?_ Krosa wonders as she sits up, clutching her shoulder and catching her breath. The only noise she can make out is her own breathing. The cavern she's in was breathtaking at first, but now it reminds her that she still has a ways to go. And of the creatures living in it. She gets up, nearly passing out before finding her discarded sword and pack and chugs down a healing potion before doing what she can to stop the bleeding. _I better not get some sort of disease from this._ Falmer are now her least favorite creatures to fight. Krosa didn't think anything could top a giant, but whatever these guys are is something else. As Krosa tries to get up again, she throws up violently.

"Dammit." Krosa groans, legs trembling. _Maybe I should wait a bit_. When she's sure she won't throw up again, she starts sipping at another healing potion, glad she thought to bring a good amount of them. Maybe it would have been better if Brynjolf could have come. The thing that seems like might kill her are the sheer numbers of the creatures she's found down here. He would have also made things more interesting. But there's nothing she can do about that now. She'll just have to make do. Why someone would come down here to explore is beyond her. She finds herself cursing the woman that did and left behind their sword. _Why couldn't they get a new one? A sword is a sword._

When her stomach seems to have settled, she eats some more of her rations. Krosa can feel exhaustion seeping in, but has no intention of sleeping here. She only needs enough strength to reach the end, then she'll worry about it. From how the man described the place, she should be getting close. She gets up before she has a chance to fall asleep.

* * *

"What kind of crazy are we talking about?" Krosa never gave off any of those vibes when with him.

"The kind that leads one to murder the very family who took her in." Suddenly he remembers their conversation in Windhelm, where she admitted to doing something less than noble. _Is this it?_ But she also said that she had to do it. _What reason would that have been?_ His mind's too muddled to try and think of anything at the moment.

"How did she kill them?"

"As they were leaving with their reward, she killed her sponsors, a powerful and well-respected Alik'r family group. The same people who took her in as a child. Slaughtered all of them like pigs. Didn't even take any of the money from the reward." _That's odd._ And probably a sign that there's more to the story. "The guards had never even seen her fight like that in the Arena. They couldn't even stop her. We got there too late."

* * *

Krosa leaves a trail of mangled Falmer behind her as she continues through the tunnels that seem to go on forever. There was a rundown chapel area not too far back, filled with the damn creatures, and she once again regrets her decision to come alone. _Didn't he say that the woman he's retrieving it for also came alone?_ While the woman didn't die, apparently she was close to it. And she's had more experience than Krosa in Dwemer ruins. So, considering everything, the chances of Krosa dying here are higher than she'd like.

" _One day you might find yourself alone, dying..."_ It wouldn't be so bad to have someone she can rely on to watch her back. But finding someone she can trust to do it? The moments she thought she did have someone- Her eyes start to burn at the memories. But that was so long ago. She was naive then. Stupid and young and easy to mold. This isn't Hammerfell. Hegathe. They're dead now. She's in Skyrim. And she's in control. She takes a deep, steadying breath. _This is no time to lose it._

Krosa turns a corner and finds herself staring at a massive, ornate door. _Is this it?_ She doesn't know what else it could be. She goes to open it. The door is heavy, and she has to use all her strength to open it enough to get in. It swings shut behind her, encasing her in the pitch blackness of the room. _That's annoying._ Now she'll have to struggle with it as she leaves. She forms a ball of light in her hand, and throws it up, illuminating the room. _What the-_

* * *

Brynjolf walks through the streets, mulling over everything they told him, only being able to look away from the scroll he's carrying long enough to ensure he's going in the right direction. He never expected anything like this when he first met her. Granted, he never had a lot to go off of, _but this_ -

" _She's highly dangerous and unpredictable. Some would even say unstable."_ She never seemed unstable. Dangerous, yes, but only when one is stupid enough to cross her. And violence isn't her immediate answer to anything. She gives the aggressors plenty of chances to change their mind. But then she's always sure to follow through. Brutally and efficiently. Unpredictable is a definite. She's not the type to advertise anything about herself. _It's hard to get her to share anything in detail._ Brynjolf looks up at the sky as a dark cloud passes over the moon, blocking the only light left. The new darkness reflects his thoughts. The cool breeze no longer seems as refreshing as it did before. It's starting to nip at him, biting into his skin.

" _We have no idea if she'd associate herself with anyone. She never did in the arena."_ Now that does seem like her, but even he witnessed people who seemed to have befriended Krosa quietly. _She tends to do so without even realizing it._

" _We're also unaware where she could have gone. Or if she had any friends or family from before they took her in."_ He doesn't know nearly enough to make a judgment on that claim. He can see it, sure, but everyone's bound to have someone. _Right?_

" _The only people who could have given us the information have been killed or have disappeared."_ Brynjolf stops again, knowing he's nearing his destination and wanting more time to think. _Did she do so on purpose? Is there something she's hiding that they found out about?_ But if some have disappeared, does that mean they're dead but not found, escaped, or- There are far too many possibilities. It's pointless to assume. The light of a candle through a window draws him back to the present. He sighs and starts walking again, slowly this time.

" _We have nothing to go on. We've only heard a snippet of a rumor that she may be here in Skyrim, confirmed when we received word from our brothers in Whiterun."_ At least that means they wouldn't have recognized him as the one helping Krosa get away from them.

Brynjolf arrives at the secret entrance to the cistern and finally tucks the scroll away. He doesn't want anyone to see him with it and take a look. Too many of them could, and most likely would use it to their own ends — especially Mercer, who'd call Brynjolf out for not doing so. _Maybe Riften isn't the safest place for her._ Even after the Alik'r leave, if they do so before she arrives, they'll have spread word enough to catch one of their ears. He makes it to his bedroom with his makeshift office without running into anyone. He locks the door, and sits in his chair, taking out the scroll again. He looks back down to the bottom of the poster. Despite all their claims, the reward seems like too much for one woman, especially Krosa. She's a catch for sure, but this is something else. _Thirty thousand gold?_ With money like that anyone can settle down and start a life for themselves, get a business running, or restore a failing guild.

* * *

A big, metal giant is staring down at her with glowing red eyes, stepping out of the contraption holding it in place. Creaking and groaning and hissing. One of its arms is a giant metal ax, the other a great sword. _Is that a- oh shit_. She didn't know that _this_ is what a dwarven centurion was. She has no time to try to escape through the door as it charges her. She barely has time to jump out of the way. This is going to be the biggest fight she's ever been in.

* * *

"This is going to be the most important fight of your life." He says as he hands Krosa her swords. Scimitars so graciously given to her after becoming Grand Champion last year. The ones that belonged to Nazir. Serving as a reminder of why she's here. _If only I could kill him too._ Krosa takes them and sheathes them slowly, fingers itching to cut him down right now. But she needs to wait. She'll have her chance. "Fail, and there will be consequences."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Curb your tongue, girl, or you'll lose it." _I'll kill him first. Then-_ No. It all depends on their positions. She can't decide that now. "You only have one chance. Don't waste it." She's not planning on it. Krosa's already decided she'll succeed. _And if you don't, there are other ways of escaping._


	16. When the Past Doesn't Die

Krosa groans, waking up slowly to the pain, surprised that she's still alive. Maybe she's just taking longer to die than she thought she would have. _At least that damned centurion is dead._ She won't die a complete and utter failure. _But shouldn't I have bled out by now?_ She doesn't even have enough energy to open her eyes. She tries to move. Her hand is clutching something hanging from her chest. _What-_ She forces her eyes open, sure that someone must have pounded them in with a hammer. There's an amulet-Savos's amulet. There's a new gleam to it, a swirling energy within the gem. _Where did that come from? Why am I holding it?_

Krosa sits up as much as she can, willing herself not to pass out from the pain, leaning heavily against what's left of the pillar. _What happened?_ She removes her outer armor and lifts up her shirt, expecting to see a gaping hole where her stomach should be, but instead there's just a painting of bruises. The cut that had opened on her leg during the fight is closed, and her arm is no longer dislocated, but the claw marks on her shoulder are still bleeding slowly. Her head falls against the pillar. At least the headache means that it's still there. She turns to look at the pile that is now the dwarven centurion. Nothing is connected anymore, and it looks like some pieces are scattered throughout the room, one lying not too far away from her. There's a circle around her of the fallen pillar. She must have had more power left than she thought. _Or-_ Krosa looks down at the amulet in her hand, still pulsing softly. Then she remembers.

* * *

 _It's risky._ But it's also her only chance. She's barely standing as is, and one of her arms are useless. One of her ribs may end up puncturing her lung in the attempt. _You're out of options._ When it comes at her again, she focuses on the hole in its armor, glowing red from whatever must be powering it. She doesn't hesitate. With all that's left of her energy, she forms the largest spear of ice that she can, and hurls it to where she hopes is it's heart, feeling a surge of energy go through her before collapsing. The sound of the impact leaves her ears ringing. A large piece of it flies towards the pillar she's next to, and the pillar starts to collapse. She can't move. _Damnit._ After a moment of panic,she closes her eyes and waits for the impact. It doesn't come. Everything goes silent. When she opens her eyes, she's somewhere else. Somewhere so beautiful that she has to close her eyes before they burn up. _Am I dead?_

"Not yet. But you will be one day, I'm sure." _Savos?_ Krosa whips around, only just realizing that not only is she standing, but nothing hurts. She looks down at her hands and arms, to see that there aren't even any traces of scars. She feels lighter than she's ever been. "Do you know where you are, Krosa?"

"I have an idea, but wouldn't that mean I'm dead?" She asks, looking at him questioningly. He looks younger and less tired. His smile is still the same though, as if he knows the answers to all the secrets of the world. It's all she can do to not look away and around to take in the beautiful sights that would render her blind.

"If you were dead, why would you be sent here?" He asks matter of factly, "Have you pledged yourself to Azura since I've died?" Krosa grimaces at the thought and he laughs. "I didn't think so."

"Am I dreaming then?"

"Have your dreams recently ever been as nice as this?"

"I can think of several ways how-"

"How this can actually be some sort of trick, or turn sour, or whatever paranoid and pessimistic thoughts you're having?" He says lightly, his smile widening. "Don't bother, Krosa. There's no need for that. This is no dream, and I'm here to help."

"How?" _Why?_

"I'm glad Tolfdir was able to give you the amulet." He says, and Krosa has to keep herself from throttling him. His tendency to never answer her questions directly has always grated on her nerves. "I was worried that it was destroyed, but I guess you never put it on before. It seems to have worked as I'd hoped."

"The amulet?" _That's right_. She put it on after her near-death experience with the horde of Falmer, hoping that its enchantment would be something useful. _But-_ "I didn't even realize I put it on."

"That's because you wouldn't have if Azura hadn't intervened. She knew you would need it." Krosa wants to ask why the daedra would be so concerned with her wellbeing, but she also knows that it's a question he isn't likely to answer. He wants her to figure it out for herself.

"So it takes me to Azura's realm?"

He shakes his head, a familiar gleam in his eyes as he says "Close. Try again." Krosa does her best to hide her smile. She missed working with Savos, despite his annoying tendencies.

"Umm-" Krosa wracks her brain, trying to remember his teachings "It holds her power?" She tries, already knowing it's wrong.

"You're getting closer."

"Your power?" He smiles. Krosa's eyes widen in realization. _Somehow he-_

"Well done."

"You soul trapped your-"

The smile fades, and he sighs, rubbing his temples. "I see I spoke too soon, but you're still on the right track." Krosa rolls her eyes. "I suppose you wouldn't have a way of knowing what happened. I never did teach it to you... Or anyone, really. But _still,_ I had hoped-"

"Then just tell me what it is," Krosa says, crossing her arms. _What's the point of this if he doesn't just tell me what he wants me to know?_

"Not yet." He says smugly, looking at something behind her. She doesn't turn around.

"Why not?" Krosa asks instead, shoving down her curiosity. Becoming blind isn't on her to do list.

"For now, you'll just have to accept that you don't need to know. I hope you'll understand." He says quickly. _We must be out of time._ "Oh! And try not to forget this like you forgot about me." Krosa tries to say something, to justify it, but she can't find the words. He waves her off. "Oh, don't worry. I don't hold a grudge. You had far more important things on your mind. You're welcome, by the way."

"For what?"

He turns to walk away, giving her one last smile. "Try not to let yourself be killed." He calls as she feels herself start to fall _What-_ "It would be a shame if all this work was for nothing. And don't move your arm too much. It's still not that stable. I did what I could in such a short amount of time."

The light fades as Krosa falls into the darkness.

* * *

"Well, lad," Brynjolf says, placing his hand on Aiden's shoulder as the lad gives him his widest smile. "Delvin told me you did a fine job in Solitude."

"Man oh man, Brynjolf, I have so much to tell ya!" Brynjolf wonders how there could possibly be anything more for him to say.

"Why don't we go sit with the others? You can tell everyone." Brynjolf says, nudging Aiden along. "I'm sure they'd all love to hear it." He adds, lying through his teeth. At least in a group, Brynjolf will have some time to think. _Even if I have been thinking about the same thing for the past few days._ Aiden whoops and runs headlong into the Ragged Flagon. By the time Brynjolf enters it, Aiden's already sitting at a table with Delvin, Vex, and Dirge, loudly starting a story with Delvin urging him on.

Brynjolf goes to the bar to get a drink, tuning them out. He couldn't get any training in with Aiden's unwillingness to stop talking about how awesome another real job was, and how cool he thinks Delvin is. Which is worrisome, but the lad needs more people on his side.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Vekel asks as he hands him a bottle of Black-briar Reserve. Out of everyone in the guild, Vekel is probably the only one who likes to talk about non-guild related things. He seems to make a point of avoiding the topic altogether. It's a relief for Brynjolf, especially now that the fact that the guild is failing is at the forefront of everybody's minds.

"There's not a whole lot of them," Brynjolf says as he takes a swig.

"Now that doesn't sound right." Vekel wipes down the already spotless counter before leaning against it, eyes looking over Brynjolf's shoulder. Brynjolf doesn't even have to guess what, or who, he's looking at. "You always have something on your mind," Vekel says, his gaze returning to Brynjolf. Brynjolf thinks about teasing him for his growing infatuation with Tonilia even though they've been together for a few months now. But it's probably not a good idea, considering what he knows and what Vekel doesn't.

Instead, his own mind turns to Krosa, wondering if she got his letter warning her of the Alik'r. Brynjolf's birdies told him that they're still in the city, but also that most people don't bother to hear them out. Good and bad news. He'd much rather see her reply rather than _her_ at the moment, though it would mean the Alik'r didn't get to her first. The Alik'rs presence in Whiterun and here may mean there are other groups in other cities. If she doesn't know, then she may not even be able to make it back to Riften. And he would never know what happened to her.

"I suppose that's true," Brynjolf says, still lost in his thoughts. "I guess I'm just worried that if I do say anything, I'll jinx it. We're having bad luck with everything else, so why not-"

"Oh please, you don't actually believe what Delvin's saying, do you?"

"What has he been saying?"

"That we're cursed."

Brynjolf scoffs. "Of course he would. Probably doesn't occur to him to think that maybe it's because of our own folly. No one tries anymore."

"Well they did, and we're still here, Brynjolf. Maybe there's something else you're overlooking."

"I'm not in charge of that anymore. Mercer's doing that. I'm supposed to find ways to bring in alternative revenue."

"Like your merchant's stall?" Brynjolf nods. "Is that all you've got going for you so far?"

"No, not exactly." Brynjolf smiles at the thought of Krosa joining the guild. "I'm waiting to hear about another opportunity, though right now may not be the best time for this particular one."

"And what is it?"

"What's what?" Aiden asks, coming out of nowhere. Vex probably scared him off.

"Brynjolf's new money-making opportunity." Vekel answers.

"Oh, are you talking about Krosa?" Aiden says, taking a seat next to Brynjolf. Brynjolf gives him a warning look that he doesn't see. "He says she's a _golden_ opportunity. As golden as it gets!"

"Oh? And who's this Krosa?" He asks with a sly smile. Brynjolf shakes his head at Aiden, but the lad pointedly ignores him.

Aiden wiggles his eyebrows, his grin turning mischievous as he quickly says "Brynjolf's _special friend_. He _reallllyyyy_ likes 'er. He's been tryin' ta get 'er to join the guild for a while now and has been waitin' for 'er ta get back from-"

"Aiden! Remember what we talked about?"

"But Vekel's not really a member of the guild!" Aiden pleads, not the least bit concerned with Brynjolf's death glare.

"Come on, Brynjolf, let the kid finish! I want to hear all about this _special friend_ of yours."

"She's just someone I've met who's very talented and would be a great addition to the guild."

"He talks about her _all_ of the time."

" _No_ , I don't."

Aiden shrugs. "Well, ya do talk about 'er a lot."

"What kind of talented?" Vekel asks, smirking.

"She's not _that_ kind of friend." Brynjolf exasperates. _Did they plan this?_ They seem to be working together too well for this to be spontaneous.

"When have you ever _not_ had that kind of female friend?"

"What kind of friend are you guys talking about?" Aiden asks, face scrunched in confusion

"Not important." Brynjolf and Vekel say in unison. Aiden pouts.

"So you're telling me you met this very _capable_ woman, liked her enough to want her in the guild, talk about her almost constantly, and you haven't" Vekel looks to Aiden for a moment before continuing with " _planted your seeds?_ " Brynjolf chokes on his mead.

"I don't have to _plant seeds_ into every _flower_ I come across!" Brynjolf says once the coughing fit ends.

"You're right. You don't have to, but you usually seem to. If they're pretty enough."

Brynjolf glares at him.

"That's not how gardening works," Aiden says indignantly. "And why are we talking about _gardening?_ It's not even the right season to garden!"

"Not for the kind of gardening we're talking about, lad," Brynjolf says, not removing his glare from Vekel whose face suggests he could give a rat's ass about Brynjolf's silent threats.

"Ugh! Why can't we talk about Krosa?"

"Because this is more important," Vekel says, picking up a tankard to clean. A smug grin plain on his face and Brynjolf half-heartedly entertains the idea of punching it off.

"Pff. You guys are no fun." Aiden hops off the stool and walks away, shaking his head.

Once he's out of earshot Brynjolf asks "Did you really have to phrase it like that?"

Vekel smiles smugly and shrugs "So, did she reject you?"

"Maybe I never-"

"She did, didn't she?" Vekel puts his hand on Brynjolf's shoulder, faking sympathy. "Don't feel too bad, Brynjolf, you can't get them all!" Brynjolf glares. Vekel laughs and returns to cleaning the mug in his hand. "Now I can't wait to meet her."

* * *

Krosa smiles when Riften comes into view, despite the explosion of her heartbeat. _Am I really going to do this?_ It doesn't feel real. Despite the fading colors of the leaves on the trees, they seem more vibrant than before. Her thoughts slow her feet until she comes to a stop, staring at a tree that's already lost all its leaves. _I don't think this is a good-_ Krosa thinks back to her conversation with Savos. Wishing that she had more time to talk. He was the only one she's met other than Brynjolf that sees something in her, something more than what everyone else does. After waking up from...whatever that was, Krosa couldn't help but think about how someone had been watching out for her. Someone helped her. She'd never been closer to death before then. _And it's due to my own folly._

Brynjolf probably would have come if she asked, with a price of course, but that's understandable. Krosa's not doing it for free either. The idea of trusting him still makes her uncomfortable, even if she might consider him a friend. She wouldn't mind thinking of him as a friend. _But I still barely know him._ And she has no idea what the others in the guild are like, or if there's an out if she wanted one or- _I can ask him about it all when I see him._

Krosa starts walking again, a little slower than before. When she reaches the gate, the guards exchange a look before letting her in. She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding in. She had considered going in the way Brynjolf made her last time but decided it probably wasn't important. Maybe there just wasn't any 'tax collectors' there. _Why else would it matter?_

When she enters the city, she's glad to see that the man who stopped her before wasn't there. And it's not as busy as it was. It has a different feeling than before, more welcoming. As the sun starts to dip below the horizon and the shadows start to unfurl, she decides that she could like living here… for a while at least. She's not that optimistic. Something could always go wrong. _But I'm going to try._ She has nothing better to go back to. And despite an underground crime guild being similar to what she escaped from, they could hide her from the Alik'r. And she can get information on their whereabouts. They could be useful. _But_ only after she finds out more about how the guild works.

'The Bee and Barb' comes into view, and she makes a quick trip to buy a room and leave all her unnecessary items, taking only her own sword and the glass one she had found after she woke up in the cavern. _If this isn't it, I'm going to kill._ She leaves quickly to go to the man's house, hoping that she remembers his instructions correctly. Krosa passes few people on the way, and when she nears the gate she entered, turns down the alley, looking for the stairs he had described to her. She sees them, and quickly makes her way up them and knocks on the door. She knocks louder when there's no answer, and finally, she hears footsteps from inside. The door opens to a blonde woman still in her armor that gives her a questioning look.

"Can I help you?" The woman asks in a lilting Nordic accent.

"I'm looking for-"

"Who is it?" A voice calls out from somewhere inside the house. The woman turns to shout back.

"I don't know yet, but I think she's looking for you!" The woman opens the door more and gestures for Krosa to come in. "Are you a friend of Aerin's?"

"Umm…"

"Yes!" The man, Aerin, answers for her, stepping into the room, out of breath. "She is...Kind of." He turns to look at Krosa. "Do you have it?" Krosa nods, and he smiles.

"Aerin-" The woman stops when Krosa takes out the sword from the makeshift sheath she was carrying it in. "Is that my-" The woman looks to Aerin, who's grinning like a mad man and nodding enthusiastically. The woman turns to look back at Krosa, taking the sword into her hands. "How did you-" She stops herself as she runs her hand down the sword with tears in her eyes. "It's in better condition that I thought it'd be."

"I-umm. Worked on it a little on the way over. I hope you don't mi-" Krosa starts, but suddenly, the woman's arms are around her, hugging her tightly. Krosa doesn't know what to do, so just stands there and lets it happen.

" _Thank you_." The woman says and releases her just as quickly, then turns to Aerin."You hired her to retrieve this?"

His hand goes to the back of his neck as he says "You always talked about it, and with how down you've been about everything lately, I thought-" The woman kisses him on the cheek, and his face flushes as red as a tomato. "I'm glad you like it." He says playfully, eyes boring into the woman's. They don't break eye contact. Krosa tries not to feel too uncomfortable.

"So...Do you have the money?"

"Oh! Of course!" He says, tearing his eyes away from the woman's. "I'll be right back with it!" He goes to leave and the woman watches him go before turning to Krosa again.

"My name is Mjoll the Lioness. What is yours?"

"Krosa."

"How did you do it?" Krosa doesn't know how to answer her, so she doesn't. The woman continues without a bat of an eye. "It's astonishing! To think that you were actually to reach it and return to tell the tale- You must be _very_ talented! I see I still have much to learn!"

"Oh, um, thanks. And I'm sure-" Krosa stops. She really isn't sure that the woman is all that talented. _Why would I say that?_ She nearly says something else before she's saved when the woman speaks up again.

"So are you a mercenary?" Krosa nods. "Where are you from?"

"Nowhere, really. I go here and there." _Is he coming back any time soon?_

"Truly!? I've been adventuring across Tamriel since I was a fresh-faced young woman barely able to swing a blade! My travels have taken me from High Rock to Valenwood, Elsweyr to Morrowind, and all the points in between." The woman says with a far off look in her eyes.

"Oh. That's nice."

"Where have you been?"

Krosa hesitates for a moment, before saying "Hammerfell, Cyrodiil, and Skyrim."

"So, you're just getting started then? I would recommend-"

Aerin reappears, saving Krosa from whatever the woman was going to say. It's not that she finds them annoying, they seem nice. Krosa just has more important matters to attend to. She takes her leave, the woman remarking that she hopes they run into each other again. Krosa quickly makes her way out the door and to the street. _Now I need to figure out how to contact Brynjolf._

She wanders the streets, the enclosing darkness not bothering her at all. If anything, it's a good thing. Brynjolf's probably more likely to be out and about, shopping through people's pockets as they hurry home. Suddenly, two hands shoot out from an alley, one covering her mouth, and the other one pulling her in. She's quick to react, biting the hand over her mouth and elbowing her attacker in the face as hard as she can. The man exclaims as she's released.

"OW! _Shit_! Krosa-"

"Brynjolf? What in _oblivion_ were you thinking!?" Krosa shouts, positively livid. She may just punch him again. He shushes her, pulling her further into the alley.

"Did you really have to go for the face?" He asks quietly, rubbing his jaw.

"Oh, like ambushing me was _such a_ good idea? What did you expect!?"

Brynjolf shushes her again before saying "I admit it wasn't one of my brightest moments."

"Why are you whispering?"

"I think you drew blood." He notes, inspecting the bite mark on his hand. Krosa rolls her eyes and huffs exasperatedly. _He's such a baby._ Voices come from the street, and Brynjolf looks past her to it, worry evident on his face. He grabs her arm and starts walking her further into the alley, turning the first corner they come across before letting go. Krosa places a hand on his chest to stop him from going further. He looks at her with a… regretful gleam in his eyes? _That's odd._

"Brynjolf, what's going on?" She asks, not knowing what to expect. He takes her hand off his chest as he looks down both sides of the alley.

"It's not safe to talk here. _Please_ just trust me." Krosa's shocked by the urgency in his tone and nods her head rather than saying anything. He turns to walk further down the alley, trusting her to follow.

She does and looks him over to try and figure out what's bothering him. Her eyes fall on something sticking out of his pocket. _A scroll?_ His hand brushes against it, as if to ensure himself it's still there. Wanting to get back at him for ambushing her, she goes to grab it and does so successfully with a smirk. Krosa unrolls the scroll, smile fading when she sees what's on it. Her own face is looking back at her. A wanted poster, with a hefty price listed at the bottom.

"Where did you get this?" She asks, voice slightly trembling.

Brynjolf turns around, hands going to his pocket with something akin to panic passing through his eyes when he sees what she's holding. "That's what I wanted to t-"

"There she is!" A voice with a thick, familiar accent from behind her says. She turns to look, already knowing what she'd see. The Alik'r are standing at the end of the alley. Four of them. She takes a step back, forgetting that Brynjolf was there and bumping into his chest. His hand gently grasps her arm, steadying her. "Thank you, sir, for leading her right to us." One of them says, and Brynjolf's grip on her arm tightens. _No._ She turns around sharply to look at him, pulling her arm out of his grasp in the process. _He-_ _No. He wouldn't-_

"Krosa, I-" The reward. The ambush. The look in his eyes.

"We'll be sure you receive your reward promptly." Brynjolf reaches out for her, and Krosa thinks he might have said something, but her mind is racing too much for her to catch what it was. She takes a step back, away from him.

"You-" Krosa can't even finish it. Can't bring herself to say it out loud. She turns to see the Alik'r starting to slowly make their way to them, then finds herself staring at the paper in her hands. _He sold me out._

* * *

"You belong to us now." The man says as he towers over her, hand firmly grasping her shoulder as if to stop her if she wanted to run.

Krosa's face scrunches in confusion, shaking her head. "But what about-"

"He left. You see, girl, he owed us a debt."

"What does that have to do with- _No_." Krosa can only think of one possibility. Something she had overheard someone talk about in town. "He wouldn't- he-he said-" The man scoffs, the grip of his hand tightening, and Krosa tries not to cry out in pain, she's not as successful with the tears threatening to spill over. _This can't be happening. He promised-_

"But he did. Did you really think all of that training was just for fun? We were testing out the goods. Seeing if you'd be worth the price." He crouches down to her eye level, his massive body nearly folding in half. He's scarier like this. Krosa didn't know that was possible. One of his fingers lifts her chin to force her to look into his eyes. His dark, terrifying eyes. Krosa holds back a whimper. "We have high expectations for you….Don't make us regret letting you live."


	17. A Misfortune of Miscommunications

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._ Brynjolf thinks, trying to find a way out of this situation. _Why are they doing this? How did they-_ The devastated look on her face makes his heart sink. He tries to reach out to her, to tell her that it isn't true, but she must have tuned him out.

"Krosa. Krosa, listen to me-" She looks back at the Alik'r, then at the paper in her trembling hands. Not looking back at him. Not hearing him. He focuses on her, trying to will her to just listen, speaking quietly so the Alik'r can't hear. She barely breathes. He hears the Alik'r tell her to come quietly. She gives no indication of hearing them either, her gaze focused on the bottom of the paper. On the reward, and Brynjolf feels his stomach churn. He tries again to tell her, finally putting a hand on her shoulder, hoping it'd break whatever trance she's in. It doesn't. _I'll just have to help her fight them off. Then I can explain._ The Alik'r start approaching slowly and Brynjolf readies himself for a fight. Krosa's hands stop trembling.

* * *

The world was spinning. Snowflakes started falling. Krosa hardly noticed they were there till now. And now they whip around her head like the rest of the world. She can feel Brynjolf's hand fall on her shoulder, burning a hole into her skin. And through her heart, turning it to ash. _I knew I shouldn't have trusted him._ She was only just starting to think that maybe- but no. He was better at his game than she thought. Somehow he wormed his way in and wrapped her around his fingers, playing her like a puppet. _Will I always find myself here?_ She wonders, remembering the other times she played right into someone's hands. Giving them everything they wanted while she's stuck with the consequences. She thought she was more careful this time. Clearly, she's not as good at it as she thought she was.

 _Maybe you should just end this now._ Part of her tells her, the same part that's been haunting her since she escaped, reminding her that she never truly can leave that place behind. It's stronger now, the feeling she's been keeping at bay since overcoming it in the arena. _They can't take you back there if you're dead. After all, why would you want to live if this life is all you're going to have?_ She's had her fill of betrayal, abuse, abandonment, disappointment. _Evidently, life just isn't for you._

But what will she do when she dies? Where would she go? She's not religious, never sold her soul away to any daedra. _Would it all just end?_ The thought terrifies her enough to come to her senses, the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness fading away. _I can take them. I can take all of them._ A deadly calm washes over her, her churning thoughts ceasing and everything coming to a sudden, grinding halt. Krosa lets go of the scroll, watches as it slowly starts to fall to the ground. Her decision made.

She can see the shadows of the Alik'r closing in, can feel Brynjolf getting ready for a fight. _To stop me from running._ _Why didn't I see this coming?_ It all seems to happen in slow motion, even the snowflakes seem to stop in mid-air. She can't hear anything over the pounding in her head, the sound of her own blood pumping through her veins. Even still she doesn't want to believe it. The bastard. _He sold me out._ When time seems to start again, and the scroll hits the ground, she lashes out with everything she could build up, sending a burst of lighting in all directions. They scream and shout in pain, falling to their knees. The world returns to normal, the crackling of the lightning nearly making her own ears bleed.

"Krosa, stop! I'm not-" Brynjolf shouts, voice full of pain. He tries to get up, but she kicks him back down, the hard, battered tip of her boot leaving a gash on his cheek. For some reason, part of her is sickened at the sight. _He sold me out._ Even still she doesn't want to believe it. Her vision gets blurry as she fights the tears. She curses herself for it.

Even with the chance that he wasn't playing her the whole time leads to this. He never shut up about his failing guild, how he'd do anything to keep it afloat. Trying to recruit her repeatedly, and her refusing every time. The bounty on her head would be more than enough to solve whatever their problems are. She hears someone approach from behind and is quick to dodge the blow, unsheathing her sword as she spins around, lashing at the assailant's leg, before finishing her spin to kick him back into the others. She runs as they're falling into each other, making it through with nothing but a cut on her arm that one of their scimitars managed to give.

Krosa runs into a guard when she makes it onto the open street and would have paid him no mind. However, he calls out, alerting the other guards, ordering them not to let her get away. She runs the other way, almost pushing away the thought that she recognized the voice. _The man at the gate from so long ago._ He must be part of Brynjolf's guild. Another shocking realization hits her when she finds her way back into an alley to avoid another group of guards coming her way. Brynjolf has all the guards in his pocket. And probably countless others. Others who know this city better than her. _How could I have been so stupid!?_ Suddenly, she remembers something else Brynjolf told her. Something that may help her escape.

* * *

Brynjolf brings his hand to the gash on his face that's still bleeding, his breaths coming and going in ragged gasps. _At least everything's still intact._ He watches as the Alik'r slowly get up after being thrown like ragdolls by Krosa, barely managing to get up himself as he hears a commotion, someone yelling to not let her get away. They're in a similar state as him, groaning and grasping aching body parts. One of them can't stand, and Brynjolf's sure he sees blood in the snow. Krosa's lightning was far stronger than Calixto's, just the one round is enough to nearly incapacitate all of them. He never would have guessed. He watches as guards pass by the alley, giving chase. One stops, walking into the alley and helping the Alik'r. Giving them healing potions and directions before they join the chase. _Baldr._ Brynjolf thinks darkly. _That half-witted oaf is responsible for this?_

" **BALDR**!" He thunders, more furious than he's ever been in his life. That scampering rat has always been a pain in the ass. _I should have dealt with him long ago_. Brynjolf gets up, his anger taking precedence over the pain, drawing the strength back into his muscles. _I'll kill him for this. Kill him again if Krosa gets caught._

"Brynjolf?" The man asks, turning, surprised at his presence. Brynjolf's morbidly pleased with hearing his voice waver in fear, even more so as the cow himself nearly starts trembling when he gets a good look at Brynjolf's murderous expression.

"What is the meaning of this?" Somehow the sniveling bastard gathers enough courage and dignity to look him in the eyes.

"You and your guild don't own us anymore." Brynjolf unsheathes one of his daggers, and the rat backs up, his tone once again on the edge of panic. "They simply paid better than you. This is business, Brynjolf, nothing personal."

"Then I hope you don't hold a grudge when I run you through." The man runs but doesn't get far before Brynjolf's dagger lands in the middle of his back. He cries out and falls over with a satisfying thud. Brynjolf takes his dagger out, and steps over his groaning form. He would do more, but his attention is drawn to the chase when he hears what sounds like blades clashing. He'll have to deal with Baldr later if he finds that the man is still alive. All he can hope for is getting to Krosa first. Luckily, he knows things about this city that even the guards are unaware of.

* * *

Krosa makes her way to the edge of the city, staying in streets and alleys near the wall. _There's got to be one somewhere!_ The guards have proven to be a dangerous nuisance. She's already fought off a group of determined ones and has had trouble throwing them off her trail ever since. At least she has yet to see any of the Alik'r again. Hopefully, they still haven't recovered from the lightning. Fighting them off while they're at their best would be dangerous. Krosa has no idea who'd come out on top.

A city gate comes into view, with only one guard guarding it. Krosa knocks him out easily, not believing her luck. That thought fades when she unlocks the gate and tries to open it, only to find that it's locked from the outside. _Damnit!_ She tries to muster up enough magicka to break through. Unsuccessfully. _Damnit. Damnit. Damnit._

A group of guards catch sight of her and she starts running again. _This is not good._ They'll find her. They'll catch her and- an arrow thuds into the back her shoulder, and she crashes into a pillar. She's barely able to dodge the next one that lands in the pillar as she moves past it and turns into an alley heading away from the wall. She slows down enough to snap the shaft of the arrow before she picks up her pace again, a new plan formulating in her mind. _Maybe I can hide out in one of these houses._ But getting cornered isn't a good idea, especially somewhere as constricting as a house. And there's no guarantee that any of these people would be willing to help. Mjoll and Aerin pop into her mind, but they're all the way across the city. _Damnit!_ Krosa's about to turn another corner when something crashes into her. She grunts in pain as she lands on her side, white-hot pain searing into her shoulder.

* * *

Brynjolf's barely able to avoid falling on top of her and gets up before she can. Tackling her probably wasn't the best choice, but he didn't know how else to get her to stop. Trailing her was hard enough already. He drags her struggling form the short distance to a hidden part of the alleyways, the way in being mostly blocked by stacked barrels. He does his best not to jostle the broken arrow shaft sticking out of her shoulder blade. _This just keeps getting worse._ Before he's able to let go, she manages to shake him off then get up to face him, panting and clutching her shoulder. Blood is seeping down her arm. Death glare in place.

"Krosa, wait-I'm trying to help!"

"Yeah right." She says, practically spitting in his face. He's never seen her so furious before, and part of him wonders if she'll try to kill him if he doesn't succeed in convincing her of his innocence.

"I didn't do this!"

"Oh. _Right_." She scoffs, pacing back and forth. "I gave you no choice, right? None of this would have happened if I had only accepted your _**gods-damned**_ proposal!"

"No, that's not-" Brynjolf stops a moment, an idea forming in his mind. _Should I take her to the Ragged Flagon?_ The secret entrance to the Flagon is nearby. The sound of voices shouting interrupt his thoughts, and he can tell they're getting closer. Krosa hears it too and shoots him a withering glare. _Shit._ _She thinks I'm stalling her._ "Lass, it's not what it looks like!" She lunges at him, pinning him against the wall, sword held to his throat. The cold burns through his skin.

"You have ten seconds to tell me where the nearest thieves' exit is. If you don't, I swear I'll kill you right here."

"Krosa-"

"Five seconds."

"That was _not_ fi-"

"Two seconds."

"Go to the Hall of the Dead," Brynjolf says quickly, not wanting to take the chance that she isn't bluffing. "Climb up the wall of it using the crates there. There's a wooden plank on the second floor that you can use to lower to the wall." She eyes him suspiciously before letting him go. "I can distra- oof!" Before he can finish she shoves him into the stack of barrels, and he lands hard, a barrel breaking underneath him, another falling on top of him. He lies there for a moment, glad that they were mostly empty. A few apples and cabbages roll around him as he struggles to get up, hurling a string of curses as the adrenaline starts to fade. Krosa wouldn't have stuck around. He hears the voices of the Alik'r in the direction Krosa ran in and knows what he needs to do.

* * *

Krosa makes it up to the balcony on the second floor and gets ready to lower the plank when she hears voices almost directly below her. _Damnit!_ She moves away from the edge, drawing closer to the wall of the building as she watches the shadows of the Alik'r dance along the city's wall.

"Where did she go?"

"She went this way! I saw her!"

"Then what are you waiting for!? Start looking around!"

"If we lose her, it's on your head!"

Krosa closes her eyes, hoping she didn't leave a trail of blood that would give away her position. Or that their shouting voices won't draw people out of the house. At that thought, she finds herself praying to whatever divine powers are out there that neither of those happens. She hears a crashing and someone yelling a few streets down, and they all run to it. She waits a few seconds before slowly making her way to the edge of the balcony to look over, her legs nearly giving out from under her. _I'm losing too much blood._ She shouldn't have left her pack at the Inn. There's still some potions in there. But she'll have to leave it. It'd be stupid to go back for it, and she finds herself cursing Brynjolf and the Alik'r more than ever.

When she's sure no one is waiting silently below, she maneuvers the plank to connect to the wall, her shoulder screaming in protest. It wobbles as she walks quickly across. She holds her breath, pausing for a moment as she gets to the middle and it creaks under her weight. She slowly takes another step, and for a few panicked seconds, she's sure it's going to snap or she's going to fall. Neither happens and once she makes it to the wall, she drags it over and drops it over the outside side of it. Hopefully, that'll buy her time if the Alik'r track her back there or if Brynjolf tries to follow her. She jumps down the wall, and this time her legs really do give out from under her, and she collapses into a heap on the ground. _I won't make it far in this condition. Damn it all!_ Maybe she'll bleed out before they can get to her.

A horse neighing somewhere nearby draws her from her grim thoughts. Krosa curses everyone and everything as she slowly makes her way towards the sound. The stables come into view, and she nearly cries in relief despite despising the fact that she has to ride one to escape. One of them is still saddled, and she lures it out with an apple core just outside of its stall that it was struggling to reach. She climbs onto it, nearly falling off the other side in the process. Krosa nudges it forward, slowly increasing in speed as she gets more confident that she won't fall off. It isn't until Riften has long disappeared from sight that she realizes she's crying. Even still she doesn't want to believe it.


	18. The End of the Beginning

**Author's note**

Hey guys! Sorry for how long it took me to update! For some reason this chapter was very hard to write! It's the beginning of the next phase, so it has a different pattern. As in scenes with Brynjolf and Krosa are non existant and both are going to be put through some major character development, and one other thing that'll become apparant by the end of the chapter story-wise! One more thing, I don't swear. It took forever for me to get comfortable writing with the ones I've used previously. THis chapter has a stronger word, but I kind of starred it out. Sorry if that bothers you! I do my best not to include words like that, but sometimes I can't find a way around it! However, if you can think of a way around it, please let me know! Enjoy and please please please review! It really does help motivate me!

* * *

Brynjolf stumbles into the Ragged Flagon, barely able to stay upright. His trip through the Ratways wasn't as peaceful as he'd have liked. The low lives who had taken residence there weren't the welcoming sort, but at least now they're the dead sort. _Mercer will appreciate that at least._ He'd been complaining about them for a while now.

After causing the distraction so Krosa could get over the wall, one of the guards tried to off him. Baldr isn't the only one who's had enough of the guild. And in his already sorry state, some of the damned low lives were able to get some good hits in. _What am I going to tell everyone?_ Unfortunately, his entrance attracted everyone's attention, and it isn't long until he's surrounded.

"By the Nine, Brynjolf, what happened to you?" Vekel asks, rushing to help him to a chair. It isn't until Brynjolf's sitting that he notices his legs are still trembling from the effects of Krosa's lightning.

"Probably pissed off the wrong person this time," Delvin says, watching them with a critical eye from the next table over as he takes another swig from his tankard. Tonilia leaves to get Mercer.

"Let's just say the guards have developed a mind of their own," Brynjolf says, clutching his aching side. "We have no control over them anymore."

" _No_." Delvin says, tankard finally hitting the table at the same time Vex starts a string of curses.

"Here, drink this," Vekel says, handing him a cup.

"Thanks." Brynjolf gulps it down, wiping the dribble off his mouth **.**

The others argue amongst themselves. Brynjolf doesn't listen. _At least Krosa managed to escape._ Though, there is still the problem of loss of blood. Brynjolf doesn't know how long she had that arrow in her. She could pass out before she reaches anywhere safe and out of reach. _Should I go after her? No. That's a stupid idea. I have no idea which way she'd go._ He sinks lower into his chair, rubbing his temples. _This is a disaster._ He tries not to think of the possibility that he'll never see her again. _She'll always think I betrayed her trust._

 _Is it worth it to try and find her?_ She most likely won't want to be found, but she seems to gain a reputation wherever she goes. It'll either be relatively easy, or the most difficult thing he'd ever have to do. _I'll decide la-_ Brynjolf's eyes go wide. Her things. She didn't have them with her. Aiden said she went to the Bee and Barb first, so she must have left it there. Maybe something in there will help him locate her.

The secret door to the cistern crashes open, and Mercer thunders in, cursing up a storm, Tonilia a step behind.

"Brynjolf! You'd better have a good explanation for this! The whole city's in upheaval!" Brynjolf groans. He is not in the mood for Mercer. At all.

"Can it wait? I'm a bit-"

"No." Mercer stops right next to Brynjolf's chair, towering over him with a death glare in place. _Hm. Those used to scare me._ He now finds Krosa's to be far more intimidating. Mercer continues, venom laced into every word. "I refuse to give you time to make up one of your damned fool-hardy stories."

"That's not what I-"

"If you don't tell me in-"

"Just leave me the f**k alone! I'm in no shape or mood for your pissing contest!" Brynjolf shouts, too pissed off to regret it. The others in the room are shocked to silence. Brynjolf's always been one who was able to control his temper, and no one talks to Mercer like that. Brynjolf moves to stand, Mercer does nothing to stop him. Brynjolf looks him in the eyes with a steely gaze. Mercer relents, moving out of his way.

As soon as he takes the first step, the room starts spinning. Brynjolf tries to take the next step. _Well, this is-_

"Shit. I think he's about to-" Brynjolf feels himself fall over. _Damnit._ Someone catches him before he hits the floor, then he's encased in darkness.

* * *

Krosa wakes up suddenly and sits up, hand flying to her back as it itches in protest, only to find that the arrow has been replaced with bandages, and the cut on her arm has been treated as well. _What happened? Where am I?_ Muffled voices and laughter drift in through the thick door. _Is this an inn?_ She looks around the small room. The light of the candle only lets her make out the shapes of a wardrobe, chair and table with something piled on top of it. She drags herself out of the bed to find her armor, sword and dagger lying there, on top of her mended cloak and a new white shirt. She puts them on, and finds her boots at the foot of her bed. She goes to the door, leaning her ear against it before deciding she doesn't care and opens the door. The room is full of Nords in blue and gray.

"Ah! Krosa! Please, come sit with us!" A deep voice bellows, and Krosa's shocked to see Ulfric Stormcloak smiling at her from across the room, gesturing to an open seat at his table. _This can't be good._ Not seeing a way out of it and wanting answers, she slowly makes her way over, ignoring the tables of soldiers she passes and sits.

"How long have I been out?" Krosa asks, wanting to get this done with as soon as possible.

"Almost a whole day."

"Where am I?"

"The Snow Bear Inn."

"And where's that?"

"Darkwater Crossing."Ulfric answers, a half smile on his face. "Shall I also tell you where that is? Or maybe how we came to find you?"

"It's not hard to guess," Krosa says, barely able to hold back a growl. Ulfric is one of the last people she'd want to be indebted to. What's worse is she already felt like she owed him something after the gold he gave her after killing the Butcher. They stare each other down, neither one showing signs of yielding.

"Soo...you two know each other?" A young blond Nord sitting next to Ulfric asks.

"Yes." Ulfric says, maintaining eye contact.

"Unfortunately," Krosa says, glare darkening. _I am not in the mood for this._

"Are you always this abrasive?"

"Are you always this haughty?" He laughs, a deep and almost guttural sound that makes the hairs on the back of her neck rise up in warning. Everything about this man screams danger.

"At least you say what you mean." He breaks eye contact to take a drink from his tankard. "Admirable, though foolish."

"I'm not doing this." Krosa gets up to leave, the door in sight.

"You have a funny way of thanking us for saving your life," Ulfric says, his tone implying that he expected more out of her. When he sees her tense he insightfully adds "Oh... that's the problem, isn't it? You don't want to feel indebted to anyone, especially to someone like me." She turns to shoot a warning glare at him. He doesn't show a sign of it bothering him in the least. _Damn Nords._ "Do not worry, Krosa, I expect nothing in return."

"Then why did you feel the need to say it?"

"Well, one must do his best to maintain his image. You don't seem to have a high opinion of me. I seek to change that." Krosa tries not to roll her eyes.

"Why do you care so much about what I think?"

"A man must have his pride, and I pride myself in what people think of me."

"No wonder you have such a complex. You must be sorely disappointed most of the time." His gaze darkens, and Krosa's reminded once again that this man is not one to be messed with. But still, part of her doesn't care.

"While this conversation is refreshing, I do feel the need to inform you that I have a limit to my patience with insubordination. Don't push it."

Krosa pauses a moment, thinking of what the consequences may be, and if she cares enough to avoid them. She has no interest in friends or allies. Not trusting anyone is the only way to avoid more situations like the ones that always seem to happen to her. _Somehow, I'm still nothing but a damned idiot._ A cutting remark pops into her mind, but she also knows making enemies left and right is no better. Especially with this particular man. So, she settles with, "If you don't want to have a problem, then I suggest you do not waste your time on me."

Krosa watches as he nearly says something, hears how the door to the inn bursts open. She turns, barely getting a glimpse of men pouring in, wearing red and gold before there's nothing.

* * *

Brynjolf groans as he wakes up slowly. Everything hurts.

"It's about damn time." Mercer says, and Brynjolf opens his eyes to see Mercer sitting in a chair next to the bed, sharpening a dagger. Brynjolf's still too angry to say anything and closes his eyes again. "So, you're going to give me the silent treatment?"

"What do you want?" Brynjolf mumbles, voice hoarse.

"An explanation."

Brynjolf rolls his eyes "Now?"

"I've waited long enough," Mercer says, putting the dagger away and handing Brynjolf a cup of water. Brynjolf gulps it down, then moves to sit up, his back resting against the headboard. _I may as well get this over with._ He thinks, mind going to a room in the Bee and Barb that will have Krosa's things waiting for him.

"Where do you want me to start?" He asks, shoving down his impatience. _I need to make up a believable story. One that's close enough to the original_ If he's distracted he'll mess it up.

"Where do you think?" Mercer asks, looking him dead in the eye. Brynjolf hesitates for a moment, before starting at the beginning. His version of it, anyway.

* * *

Brynjolf rushes out of the cistern. Mercer bought the story, and assured Brynjolf that he can deal with it. Brynjolf knows how he plans to. Maven and murder comes to his mind, as well as a few strings being pulled here and there to gain some control back. Brynjolf doubts it'll work as well as Mercer hopes. As much as he doesn't like to admit it, he knows that they no longer have any sort of power. The best they can do from now is is continue extorting the shop owners, but even that isn't guaranteed to last long.

The Bee and Barb comes into view, and Brynjolf bribes Keerava to tell him which room is Krosa's. The Argonian was more than happy to. For once their interaction has him paying her rather than the other way around. She took full advantage of it, Brynjolf too rushed to care. He enters the room, the emptiness of it striking a chord in him. _I was so close._ A pang of anger towards Krosa emerges. _If she wasn't so damned paranoid-_ He stops himself. _This isn't her fault. It's mine._ He knew Baldr wasn't trustworthy but kept him on anyway. They had little enough help as it was. And now it cost him Krosa, who would have been a great addition to the guild. _And good friend._ Brynjolf sighs, shaking away his thoughts.

Brynjolf looks around the room, spotting a pack under the bed. He doesn't know why, but he hesitates. Krosa would be pissed if he went through her stuff. _Just do it! She can't possibly get more angry at you!_ He pulls it out slowly, placing it on the bed. He moves to open it, then stops. _Not here._ He slings it over his shoulder and exits the Bee and Barb.

* * *

It starts with a splitting pain in her skull, then the sound of a creaking wagon. _What happened?_ She groans as she opens her eyes a sliver, only to find herself looking directly into the blinding sun. She closes her eyes as quickly as she can as panic washes over her.

* * *

The sun burns brightly on her pink and peeling skin. Strong hands grip her shoulders, forcing her to kneel. She gasps in pain when her knee strikes a sharp rock, and can feel it puncture her skin. They tie her trembling hands to the post, her raw wrists screaming in pain. She holds back the tears in her eyes as they rip the back of her shirt open, and nearly bites her tongue off to keep from crying out. From letting them know how terrified and weak she is.

The sound of footsteps gets closer.

And closer.

Then they stop.

A shadow looms over her. Krosa doesn't dare to breathe, terrified of any sound that may escape if she does. It would only make things worse. She sees the shadow of the whip, hears it whistle in the wind as it comes down in the first strike.

* * *

Krosa forces herself back to consciousness to find herself cold and shivering. She groans again as she slowly moves to sit up.

"Oh, you're finally awake! Damn soldiers sure worked you over." A Nordic voice says, and she looks over to its origin. The blond Nord from the tavern is sitting across from her, and Krosa struggles to remember what happened. "We told those Imperial bastards you weren't with us, but they just grabbed you like that thief over there."

Krosa's heart stops. _No. No, did he-_ She looks over to the other end of the cart, sure that she'd see his smirking face. His scheming emerald eyes. Relief washes over her when she stares into the gray eyes of a stranger, then annoyance when she sees Ulfric is also in the cart with them, watching her with a critical eye. _At least he's gagged._ She doesn't have to worry about talking to him.

"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!" The thief shouts, at Ulfric and the Nord. He turns to Krosa."You there! You and me, we shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the empire wants!"

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The blonde Nord says, and Krosa sighs as she sits up. _This is going to be fun._

"Shut up back there!" A moment passes with blessed silence, before the thief speaks up again, quieter this time. One last small rebellion on his part.

"What's wrong with that sorry bastard?" He asks, tilting his head to Ulfric. Krosa can see Ulfric's gaze darken.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

The thief hesitates a moment, mouth agape. "Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm? The man who used the voice to murder High King Toryyg? The leader of the rebellion?" Horror spreads across his face. "If they've captured you-oh gods, where are they taking us!?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." The Nord says, looking towards the sky with shining, adoring eyes. Krosa does the same, wondering what he sees up there. She doesn't see anything other than the sky. She returns her gaze to the Nord, who sighs as a small smile grows on his face. His trance is broken when the thief starts panicking, and they both look over to him in annoyance.

"No, this can't be happening! This isn't happening!" Krosa's saved from telling him to shut up when the Imperial soldier does so for her, this time with a warning laced into his voice. They're trying his patience. Krosa rolls her eyes.

A few minutes pass, each of them lost in their own thoughts while Krosa tries not to think at all. Who knows what her traitorous brain will reenact for her. Now it has plenty more to go off of.

"So, what brings you into the cold grip of the Empire anyway? I know you're not with the rebels." The thief says, barely above a whisper.

"Does it matter?" Krosa asks, not even knowing where she would start if she did share.

"I suppose it doesn't anymore, but please allow me my curiosity." Krosa mentally sighs.

"I don't know." Krosa shrugs "Bad luck I guess." The thief snorts.

"There's plenty of that around."

"Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?" The Nord asks, "Whiterun? The Reach? Haafingar?"

"Why do you care?" Lokir spits at him, and Krosa has to stop herself from rolling her eyes again. She's been doing that quite a bit since coming here.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead, I'm-I'm from Rorikstead."

"And you, Krosa?"

* * *

"This is going to be our home now." Nazir says, gesturing to the sandy city before them.

"Why here?" Krosa asks, face scrunched as she takes it in. It certainly doesn't look like a homey place. _Why would anyone choose to live in a desert?_

"I know people here. I can work for them and we can get you some training."

"But you're already training me."

He crouches down to her level, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Yes, and I will continue to do so, but we need money."

Krosa pouts. "Why don't we just continue-"

He chuckles. "Don't tell me you already forgot what happened in the last village? If you had gotten caught, you would have lost a hand."

Krosa sighs "How long are we going to be here?"

"I don't know. But I promise it's not going to be as terrible as you think it is." He stands, taking her smaller hand into his large, rough ones. Krosa wonders how they got that way. As they enter the city, she looks up to him, wondering what he's thinking.

* * *

Krosa blinks at the memory and doesn't get the chance to answer. Not that she would have anyways.

"General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting!"

"Good. Let's get this over with."

Krosa tunes out when the horse-thief starts praying. A pointless endeavor, in her mind. Why would the gods care what happened to anyone? She hears more talking going on, so she reverts deeper into her mind. Hearing a man yap away pathetically is not what she wants to focus on when she's certainly about to die. Surprisingly, she finds that she does not fear death. Her heart beats erratically. Or maybe she does but just knows that there's no alternative. She doesn't seem to feel anything at the moment. Her own thoughts are hard to make out. All she can hear now is her own shallow breaths. Then the carriage stops. She opens her eyes to see the chopping block waiting. Krosa closes them again. _I wish I died in that cavern._

* * *

Another Author's note! This is a commission I asked a friend to do of Krosa! I drew the outline on paper (minus armor deco) and she drastically improved it! I'm not great on completing my art work! Check out her artwork on Instagram! She's great! akorosart

After posting this on ff I see that it won't upload the picture. But if you go to her account, you can find it! She's got red hair and there's a green circle behind her head in the background!


	19. Return of The King of Dragons

**So this actually went faster than planned! Yay! f. Enjoy! and please review!**

* * *

' _This week has been good. These damn Imperials are the worst penny-pinchers I've ever seen. I have made enough to eat for a few days at least.'_

' _I have a job lined up starting tomorrow. Escorting some noble to the next city over. There have been some highwayman problems in the area. Should be easy enough. Pay isn't great, but it gives me something to do.'_

' _Don't trust a man named Aunius. He has brown, graying hair, green eyes, a stocky build, and dresses like a commoner. He's not one. That should be easy enough to tell. He also had some sort of tattoo under his eye, it looked like a teardrop. Might be part of some underground crime ring. He has that look about him. I've seen him following me occasionally. Stay away from the docks and Arena District.'_

' _I stole a cloak from the market today, caught someone who noticed. I wasn't able to get a good look at whoever it was. They were hooded. Must have been a fugitive or criminal or something. They didn't say or do anything, but still, I should be more careful.'_

Brynjolf turns to the next page, then the next. Most of these entries are in a language he doesn't know but assumes to be Yoku, the language spoken in Hammerfell. _Do I bother getting someone to translate them?_ He wonders. The entries he can read have given him nothing, but the first half of it is completely in that language. There may be information in there, some of it could even have been during her time in the Hegathe Arena. It could tell him what really happened there. He looks at the next readable entry, and sighs.

 _She doesn't even put in the dates regularly._ He closes the book. She only seems to on a day that she must have deemed important, and seems to only include the location for the same reason. There's also the fact that she seems to be writing this for someone. It's laced with warnings about places and people from all over Cyrodiil. _Does she know someone who could benefit from this information, or is it for herself? And why?_

He puts the journal down next to the husk doll and amulet, the only things that seem to be personal objects. The rest of the stuff in the pack were necessities for travel. _I'll read more later._ Brynjolf picks up the amulet, inspecting it. If anyone could tell him what it is, it'd be Delvin. He would also be the person to talk to about getting info on the arena. _At this hour, he should be the last one still in the Flagon._ He pockets it, then puts the doll and journal back into the pack before hiding it under a floorboard. _This better not be a waste of time._

* * *

Delvin spits out his mead as he reaches for the amulet.

"Blimey, Bryn! Where did you find this!?"

"Unimportant," Brynjolf says, crossing his arms. "So you know what it is?"

"I've heard of 'em but never thought I'd see one. Ya see, there's some kind of- of some super secret magic cult." He gets out, belching in the process. "Can't remember the name at the moment, but it's an odd one."

"Do you know what it does at least?"

"Ha! Do I know what it does? What do I look like? A damned _cultist?"_ Delvin takes another gulp from his tankard. "I doubt you'd find anyone who knows what it does. It'd be powerful for sure, and worth a lot in the black market. The fact that you have one is- is great. I'd buy it from ya, give ya a good price too. I'm generous when I'm drunk."

"No thanks," Brynjolf says, taking the amulet back.

"Oh come on, Bryn! You never pass up on an opportunity like this! I'm talking somewhere in the thousands!" Delvin exclaims, gesturing his hands wildly to accentuate his point.

"I'm not selling it. We don't even know what it could do." _And it doesn't belong to me._ He adds silently, finding the thought ironic.

"Doesn't sound like a problem to me. We could just make something up."

"No."

"Pff. When did you get so fluggin' stiffy?"

"I'll buy you another drink to make up for it," Brynjolf says, sitting down across from him, and signaling Vekel. Delvin rarely remembers anything when he's as drunk as this, but Brynjolf doesn't want to take any chances. So, taking a hint from Krosa, he keeps them coming, each one stronger than the last.

* * *

"You should leave me, prisoner. I doubt I'll live even if we make it out."

"Stop talking," Krosa says, adjusting his weight. She did her best to heal him initially, but she's running low on magic since their last encounter with Stormcloaks. The best she can do now is reclose the wound every time it opens. _He may be right though._ Krosa, thinks to herself, doubting his chance of survival... as well as her own.

They must have been wandering around below the keep for an hour at least, and still, she can hear the sound of the destruction caused by the dragon. _A dragon._ She's only ever heard them mentioned a few times, and only in stories meant to scare children.

 _How long does it plan to burn the place?_ She thinks when they feel the effect of another cave-in behind them. The soldiers must be putting up a good fight agaisnt it. She feels her own cuts start to open and the burns peeling, but ignores it. Slowing down could cause their death faster than bleeding out or peeling to death, if that last cave-in was anything to go by. They don't make it much farther when they turn a corner and see Ulfric and the Stormcloak from the carriage talking.

"Shit," Krosa says, then scolds herself. She didn't mean to say it out loud. They turn, swords raised. Ulfric sees her first, shock turning to anger when he sees who she's with.

"Kro- What are you doing with _him?"_ He demands, taking a step closer, sword still raised.

"What does it look like?" She says, doing her best not to let on how exhausted she is. She would rather not fight anyone at the moment. He shakes his head disappointedly, and Krosa can feel his anger rising. _This is not good._

"It's not too late to make the right choice, Krosa." He says, deep voice booming with passion and what Krosa would call regret. "If you-" She doesn't let him finish.

"I'm helping him. Get over it."

"I would rather not fight you."

"Then don't." He looks her hard in the eyes, and Krosa has to wonder if he's trying to tell her something silently, threatening her, or just analyzing her. It's impossible to tell with his cold, unforgiving blue eyes. The look fades when he breaks the silence.

"You're aiding my enemies. Why shouldn't I?"

Krosa rolls her eyes. "He's not _my_ enemy, and I don't have to be yours." His gaze darkens, but his grip on his sword loosens slightly.

"You've hated me since we've met."

"Give me a reason not to." He studies her for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Have I not already?" He asks, sounding mildly offended.

"Not yet."

Ulfric takes her in, and Krosa has no doubt that she didn't succeed in making it seem like she'd be able to put up much of a fight. Though, in her defense, she's surprised she hasn't collapsed yet. His soldier, Ralof, if she's right, seems hesitant as well, but every time he looks at the soldier slung on her shoulder, his gaze hardens. She begins to wonder if this is even worth it anymore. It seems like there will be only one way to get out of this alive.

"How do I know you haven't killed any of my men?" Ulfric asks slowly, interrupting her racing thoughts.

"You don't, but I didn't. As you can see, I've been preoccupied."

"How did you get so far if you didn't engage with any of my men." Krosa sighs.

"I said I didn't kill them, not that I didn't engage them." At his questioning look, she adds "They attacked first. We tried to reason with them."

"And how did you engage them _without_ killing them?"

"I know a few spells," Krosa says, barely able to hide the strain in her voice. She can feel her adrenaline fading, and this argument and her wounds are starting to take its toll. _He'd better make up his damned mind soon._

He scoffs. "You expect me to believe that _you're_ a mage?"

Krosa's too tired to roll her eyes, and instead uses the arm wrapped around the dying soldier to summon a ball of light in her hand. It dissipates after a few moments, and Krosa can only hope it was enough. She doesn't have enough magicka left in her for more.

"I used lightning." She says, no longer able to hide the exhaustion that's creeping in. "It didn't even knock them out, just slowed them down."

"Where are they now?" Ulfric asks, returning his sword to his sheath. Either he doesn't think he'll need it to kill her, or he no longer plans to. Krosa hopes it's the latter.

"We lost them when the ceiling caved in behind us." He doesn't say anything for a second, then another. Krosa closes her eyes, about to accept the fact that she's not going to make it out alive. It seems that nothing she does seems to matter. Death is always right around the corner.

"You'll owe me for this." She hears him say, then hears the sound of a sword sliding back into its sheath. Krosa opens her eyes to look at his, shock and doubt clear on her face.

"If you're thinking I'm going to join in on your war-"

He scoffs. "No need to worry about that. My soldiers are made up of honorable men who believe in our cause. It would be more trouble than it's worth to try and include you amongst them."

"Then what do you want?" She asks, knowing she'd rather die than find herself all but enslaved to another person.

"A favor when I need it." This time she's the one studying him. She doesn't sense any mal-intentions, and he seems honest. _Maybe he's not as bad as I thought._

"Fine. But there are things that no one can make me do. Not even you."

"Deal. Ralof, take the Imperial off her hands." Krosa feels the Imperial stiffen and hears him whisper.

"Are you sure about this?"

Krosa turns to look at Ulfric again. "This better not be a ruse. If it is-"

"I gave you my word, Krosa. I intend to keep it." She has a hard time believing him. Seeing her doubt, he continues with "From what I can see, you're in no shape to lug a two hundred pound man around. I'm surprised you've made it this far."

"Only if he disarms himself."

"What-" The Stormcloak starts, but Ulfric waves him off.

"Do as she says, Ralof."

"But-"

"Between her and I, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. I'll take the front, she'll take the rear." Ulfric says, looking to her for her agreement. Krosa nods and Ralof hands his weapons to Ulfric, who gives the blades to Krosa. He slings the bow and arrows across his own back. Krosa hands the Imperial to Ralof and whispers.

"If you kill him, I'll kill you.

"I'm glad we could come to an agreement," Ulfric says, clearly having overheard the exchange, and Krosa knows that the same goes for her. He's trusting her not to stab either of them in the back.

"Don't make me regret it." She says as they start to walk.

"Don't make me regret it either."

* * *

 _If we don't find an exit soon-_ She looks at the injured soldier carried by Ralof, then down at her own bleeding wounds. Since they've started walking, Krosa noticed that Ulfric favors one leg, and he doesn't move one of his arms as much as he should. Ralof seems to be the only one relatively uninjured, well minus the dark burn that scars part of his face and disappears beneath his tunic. The likelihood of any of them making it grows slimmer by the minute.

The sound of voices draws them to a stop, and Krosa groans. The voices get closer, and from what she can tell, they're not Stormcloaks. Looking back at Ulfric confirms her suspicions.

"Ralof, go ahead. We'll handle this."

"Are you sure you can?"

"After all this trouble, at least one of us should make it out. If you do and I don't, I charge you with the responsibility of informing the other of what happened. And, I ask that you keep our deal with our friend here." Ralof hesitates, but he's no match for Ulfric's tone. He salutes, then continues through the tunnel.

"I don't have much magic left," Krosa says, turning to see Ulfric lost in thought. "And I have no guarantee that I can-"

"You can." He says, and at her confused look hands her a potion from under his robes. "Drink this."

"What does it do?"

"It's a healing potion. I'm sure you know what it does."

"You had this and you didn't-"

"I agreed not to kill him, not to help keep him alive. I would have given it to you sooner, but I knew you would have insisted he take it instead."

Krosa glares at him, and for once someone glares harder. _No wonder he always gets his way._ She thinks, reaching for the potion. She drinks it, the cold minty taste soothing her dry throat. She feels her wounds close, and some of the internal damage heal as well. It didn't do the whole job, but enough to where she's confident she can put up a fight.

"Why haven't you drank it yet?" She asks when she's finished.

"I don't need it." Krosa rolls her eyes but doesn't have time to say anything. The Imperials run into sight, shouting when they see Krosa and Ulfric standing there.

"Halt!" Ulfric shouts, voice thundering through the tunnel, and Krosa can see them stop in shock. There's only five of them. Krosa lets herself feel relieved. That feeling goes away when she notices more shadows dance along the tunnel walls. More are on their way. "If you come any closer, we'll have no choice but to kill you."

"There are more of us than there are of you."

"Find another way, or we _will_ kill you." Ulfric reiterates. A fireball shoots down the hall, followed by a chain of lightning, and Krosa's quick to deflect them with a ward. When it starts to fail, Ulfric pulls her out of the way and a thundering noise escapes his throat, and the fire and lightning makes it's way back to the soldiers. It only takes out one of them.

Krosa doesn't waste time standing there in awe or fear, she follows the path of destruction to the soldiers, meeting them before they had a chance to recuperate. The first one goes down easy, the second just as easy. Ulfric catches up and takes down another. One comes up to his injured side, and Krosa manages to get to him first, her sword slashing through his stomach. She sees Ulfric's surprised look before he tells her to duck, and when she does he throws a dagger at the soldier behind her. It isn't long until they're surrounded by bodies. She stays on his useless side, and he hers. Krosa's loathe to admit that they work well together.

* * *

Ulfric turns to the woman who fought beside him like a storm. He'd never seen anyone else who was able to keep with him in battle. Only Galmar has gotten close, and he never did as well with such wounds hindering him. It only makes him think of what she can do if she were at her best.

"Krosa, you- You're turning green." He's quick to step out of the way when it's clear that she's going to lose the contents in her stomach. When she's done, he helps her trembling form to stand. "Please don't tell me you're squeamish." He says lightly, surprised when she doesn't shoot him with a glare.

"Let's keep going." Is all she says before pulling away from him and walking back down the tunnel. Ulfric can see her legs and arms trembling.

"You look like you could use a break." He calls out. "We can afford one."

"I don't need one."

"Very well," Ulfric says, walking to catch up with her, "but if you pass out, I'm not carrying you."

"Deal."

With one last swing, Ulfric takes off its head. The spider's green blood sprays into his face, and he grimaces in disgust. As the body of the spider collapses, he wipes it off his face. He looks around, not hearing or seeing Krosa anywhere.

"Are you still alive?" He calls out. He hears a quiet reply and goes in search of her. He finds her lying on her back, next to the largest spider, and in its pool of blood. _So much for being squeamish._ Ulfric goes to her, stabs his sword into the ground, sits against its flat end, and sighs. "If I ever meet someone who doesn't hate those damn things, I'm afraid I'll have to kill them."

He thinks he hears what could have been a laugh but came out as a groan, then her gruffly say "I'd help you."

They stay there for a while, catching their breath. Her eyes remain closed, so he studies her freely. _Where did she come from?_ Ever since he saw her lying in the snow in front of Hjerim, he sensed something in her. Something familiar. Even then she resisted their help, but it wasn't long till she passed out from the cold. When she came into his office the next day, full of loathing and spite, he couldn't help but be impressed. It was clear she feared him, but she stood her ground anyway, the same way she defended an Imperial who was likely to die anyway.

She takes a deep breath, and he watches her chest rise and fall. _She's also rather alluring._ He thinks, now eyeing her form. _And surprisingly young._ Especially for someone who has abilities like hers. He wouldn't place her past thirty. Her muscles are built like a Nord woman, though it's clear she's Breton. _And she's sturdier than anyone I've ever seen._ He thinks, wondering how many people he's seen carry on with wounds like hers. His gaze go to the scars on her face but doesn't have any time to think anything when her eyes snap open.

"Did you need something?" She asks curtly.

"I was just wondering if you'd ever get up. From the looks of it, I was sure you'd stop breathing soon." She sighs, then moves to get up. He goes to help her.

"I can stand on my own." She says, venom in her voice.

"I'd like to see you try." He says, challenging her. Her fiery gaze meets his, and he already knows that she won't accept anything less than proving him wrong. He watches as she slowly gets up and struggle to her feet, using the spider's body to lean against. _At least she's got mettle, but it doesn't make her any less damned prideful or foolish._ Just watching made him want to cringe.

"Was that enough entertainment for you?" She growls, panting and glaring. He stands as well, pulling his sword out of the ground.

"It was an impressive show, but if you want to get out of here alive, I'd suggest not doing things that could kill you in the process."

"In my experience, everything here wants to kill me. I don't see how one more thing would make it any worse."

He laughs. "I can't argue with that." He sheathes his sword and starts. He hears Krosa follow and slows his pace to match hers. Neither of them say anything else.

* * *

Their next obstacle is a sleeping bear that is easy to sneak around, even in their state. He looks back to Krosa once they pass it, having done so many times. _She's not looking good_. When he steps on his left foot wrong and pain shoots up his leg, he has to admit that he's not looking too good either. _The damned exit better-_ He sees a light, then quickens his pace to look around the corner. _We've made it._

"I see the exit!" Ulfric shouts, relief flooding over him. He turns back to look at Krosa when there's no reply. She's lying on the ground, and he sees no sign of movement. He rushes back to her, turning her onto her back to check her pulse. It'd be a shame for someone like her to die so close to victory. He lets out his breath when he feels it, even though it's not as strong as he'd like it to be. He picks her up, throwing her limp form over his shoulder. "I know you like to be difficult," he says, getting to his feet, "but this is going a bit too far."

* * *

She's falling. And falling. _What's happening?_ She wonders, trying to look around but only seeing darkness. All she hears are gravelly whispers, all talking over each other. She closes her eyes, trying to will herself awake. _This has to be a dream._ Then the whispers grow stronger. They talk over each other, giving her a headache. Some are sweet and beautiful, others grating on her ears with their roughness. The deepness, the wailing of their tone makes her shiver and quake.

" _When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world._

 _When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped_

 _When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles_

 _When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls_

 _When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding_

 _The World-Eater wakes, and the wheel turns upon-"_

"You." A guttural voice says, and she feels her body burning at the word. Krosa opens her eyes to find herself staring into two large yellow ones. Eyes that she's only ever seen in her worst nightmares. She moves to back away when she realizes what the creature is, but finds she is already sitting against a wall. Her heart rate quickens as it laughs, a bloodcurdling sound.

"Do you fear me, mortal?" It asks, it's breath hot and rancid.

"What are you?" Krosa asks, looking around to find a weapon. Anything she can use to kill it. All she sees are charred bodies and fire, towers crumbling, and ash falling like snow. He roars triumphantly, taking in the destruction behind him with a hungry pride in his eyes, before turning to look her in the eyes again.

"I am the King of Dragons. What are you?"


	20. Bridges that Burn

Krosa's eyes snap open as she takes a gasping, panicked breath. She sits up quickly, finding herself in an unfamiliar room. A cold sweat encases her, and for the first time ever she doesn't know why she's panicking. There are no memories- only the sense of impending doom. _What was that?_ There's a cup of water on the table next to her. She grabs it to soothe the burning in her throat. It shatters as it falls out of her trembling hands. Voices startup on the other side of the door, getting closer. Her heart beats erratically. The door to the room opens and in walks a blonde Nord woman with Ulfric close behind. She doesn't have time to be relieved.

"Oh dear." The woman says, seeing the glass on the floor and Krosa's current state. "I'll come back with more water for you, and clean that up."

"Please, allow me," Ulfric says, giving the woman a look that means there is no argument to be had about it. "Tend to her while I'm gone. When I get back, I want to talk with her alone." Krosa is too out of it to think anything, and just accepts that this is happening. The woman introduces herself as she checks and rewraps Krosa's wounds. Krosa's grateful that the woman seems to be able to sense that Krosa's not in the mood for talking. Once she's done, the woman all but scuttles out the door, and it isn't long until Ulfric returns with a broom in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

"What happened to not carrying me if I passed out?" Krosa manages to ask despite the hoarseness of her voice. Ulfric holds the cup out to her. She takes it and gulps the soothing water down as fast as she can, nearly choking on it in the process.

"I've met many difficult people in my life," Ulfric says as he sweeps up the shards of glass. "One man even refused to leave a battle when he could only stand on one leg. Another one nearly lost an arm and tried to convince me that it was only a flesh wound. I could go on, but the list is rather long. You, however, are by far the worst of them." He finishes sweeping and pulls up a chair to sit on. His look urges her to respond. Krosa doesn't even have to try to look annoyed. "Well, I see you're in no mood for company," Ulfric says, getting up. Krosa sighs as he opens the door.

"Wait." He waits, looking at her expectantly. "I- thank you. For helping me." Krosa says as nicely as she's able. "Both times."

"See that wasn't too difficult." He says, closing the door to stand behind the chair.

"Maybe not for you," Krosa says pointedly. _This is humiliating._

"Does this mean we're friends?" He asks, teasing her.

"Not even close."

"Well, let me know when you get over yourself. I wouldn't mind having a friend like you. I'd get to work on my tolerance for insolence." He says, finally sitting back into the seat and getting comfortable before saying "And I'd get to spar with someone who can keep up with me."

"I don't see why you would want to." He laughs, and it doesn't irritate her as much as the other times did. Which irritates her more than anything. _What is wrong with me?_

"You fight unlike anyone I've ever seen before. You're a marvel on the battlefield." He exclaims with a look that glimmers with admiration. Krosa tries not to roll her eyes as she starts to say something, but when it becomes apparent that all she'd do is stutter, she refrains from speaking. At her lack of answer, Ulfric adds "You're not going to say anything?"

"I don't know what to say to that," Krosa says, shrugging.

"It was a compliment."

"...Okay."

"I think you would benefit from a friendship between us as well." Krosa raises an eyebrow. He sighs. "You don't have a very…..good way with words. I could help with that. People would respect you more." Krosa doesn't like the haughtiness of his tone and finds herself hating him again. Which is a relief.

"I don't need fancy words to get my point across," Krosa says, not bothering to hide the hostility in her voice. "Words don't mean anything." _Brynjolf's proof of that_. A sharp pang stabs her chest, a familiar one that she has learned to shove away without a second thought. Ulfric shakes his head sadly.

"Words can inspire. They can draw people together. I can rally an army with just one sentence if I choose the right words ." He booms, his voice powerful and passionate. Krosa's forced to remember that his power _is_ called the Voice. _Figures._ But still, that doesn't apply to her.

"Fancy speeches mean nothing," Krosa says, crossing her arms. "You can talk all you like, but it's just talk."

"Ah, so, you're a woman of action?"

"Are you not?" Krosa asks, then at the face he makes, adds "A man, though, not a woman."

"Are you questioning my honor?" He says, and Krosa can tell that he tried to make it sound playful. He wasn't successful. She's never seen someone so puffed up with pride before. It doesn't suit him as well as he thinks it does.

"What would I know about honor?" Krosa says, deciding it's not worth it to comment on.

"What indeed," Ulfric says, studying her for a moment.

Krosa doesn't know what he's trying to find, but whatever it is she's determined not to give it to him. A few more moments pass, and a satisfied look appears in his eyes. He leaves without another word and Krosa lets her muscles relax. He sets her on edge, different than how it was with Bryn- she feels her muscles tense again. _Maybe it's my gut's way of telling me they're bad news._

"Well, lass. I'd suggest we get something to eat and catch the next cart ride." Brynjolf says once they pass the gate into the city. Their trek to Riverwood has actually been enjoyable. Krosa's loathe to admit that Brynjolf is good company. Her legs are sore, and she's exhausted, but it hardly bothers her.

"I'd rather put more distance between us and them." Krosa says, voice ragged from talking so much along with a lack of water. He made the time fly, and took her mind off of her pursuers. But she still doesn't want to take any chances.

"And that will be easier if you have food in your stomach." Brynjolf turns at the corner, tugging Krosa with him by the arm. She lets him. "It'll give you energy."

"I'm not hungry."

"Your attitude would suggest otherwise."

"What attitude?" He stops and lets her arm fall away as he turns to look at her with a playful gleam in his ever-twinkling eyes.

"Your 'I don't believe in being nice' one. It _can_ be charming, but only at first. After that, it can get rather tiring. I'd rather not go about my business wondering if you'll ever act on one of your urges to shut me up for good." Krosa tries to be offended but knows that he's only teasing. A small smile forms on her face that she lets linger for a moment as she rolls her eyes.

"You're lucky I'm starting to like you," Krosa says reluctantly, surprised that it's true- and that she felt comfortable enough to say it out loud. And in his presence. _By the Eight, I hope he didn't hear that._ He'll get cocky and unbearable to be around. _Well, more than usual at least._

"What was that lass? I don't think I heard you right."

"I don't think you did either."

"Are you sure? I could have sworn-" Krosa feels her face heat up and thanks whatever divine beings are out there that it's dark and he can't see.

"Are we going to eat or not?" She asks, putting a stop to wherever this conversation would turn to. With him it could lead anywhere, and there are places she does _not_ want to risk going.

"And I thought you weren't hungry." Brynjolf says as he starts walking, a smug look on his face and a smile hidden in his eyes. Krosa follows behind, unable to look away from him. All she can do is wonder what else he could be hiding. But when they reach the tavern and he opens the door for her with a playful look and a flirtatious comment, she shakes away the thought. _He's proven he's trustworthy._ Krosa thinks, a warm feeling blooming in her chest. He may be the first person she may even call a friend.

The light from the closed window hits her face in fragments, warming her cool and clammy skin. Krosa sinks further into her bed, letting out a deep sigh. The memory replays over and over again. She had never felt so comfortable with someone before, and look at where it led her. Starting to get comfortable at the College of Winterhold did her no good either. She sits up straight, eyes wide with realization as she searches the room for it.

 _The amulet. Did I- I did._ The moment of false hope dissipates, and she collapses back onto the pillow. _I left the damn thing at the damned inn!_ Another thing Brynjolf is responsible for. Her sword is also there, and Hilda's doll with the name she can't seem to remember. And now she's left with nothing. Again. Krosa fights back the tears in her eyes as her chest and stomach swirl with disappointment and helplessness. _I still can't believe I fell for his charm._ He got her. Played her like a fiddle. _I won't let it happen again._

"What's the word on the street, lad?" Brynjolf asks, unable to hide the worry in his voice. As soon as the Alik'r left the city in a fit of anger to look for Krosa, he took Aiden to Whiterun, hoping to gather any news on her whereabouts. _If they get her, it'd be my fault_. His own negligence and stupidity caused this. He was too distracted with winning her over that he didn't even notice the very thing that's his job to notice. _At least that bastard is dead._ There's some comfort in that.

"There isn't any," Aiden says, crouching by the fire to warm his hands. The first snows of winter have started, luckily not too heavy to be a problem yet. The serious snowfall shouldn't start for at least another month or two.

"What?" Brynjolf asks after a few moments, too lost in thought to register the answer right away.

"Those fellas you talked about aren't there…. Was this a test?" Brynjolf turns to look at him, not believing what he's hearing. "Oh man, did I _fail_?"

"No-don't worry about it." Brynjolf turns away, looking at the silhouette of the distant city. _Could that mean that they no longer have a reason to search? That they-_ If they did, he'll just have to save her. There has to be a way to track them."Just-just meet me back in Riften."

"Why can't I-"

"Aiden! Just do it! I'm not in the mood to argue!" There's a moment where he starts to think that maybe the lad would listen to him for once. It doesn't last long.

"Is this about Krosa? Did somethin' happen to her? I heard some talk in Riften and've been worried ever since."

"What!?" Brynjolf turns to him. "What did you hear? And why didn't you tell me sooner!?" At the surprised face the lad makes, Brynjolf takes a step back. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell." He approaches the kid who looks at him like he's a stranger. In all their time together, Brynjolf has always managed to control his temper. This is the first Aiden's seen him like this, and the lad clearly doesn't know what to think. Brynjolf sits down next to him and gazes into the fire, wondering if he should try asking a bit nicer this time, but Aiden saves him from wondering for too long.

"There weren't much to it. Just somethin' about how they're gunna go after her, and she can't have gottin far. I din't hear them say her name, but after she went missin' and everythin' I just guessed it was 'bout her."

Brynjolf sighs and huffs out a deep breath. "You guessed right."

"What happened? Why do they want 'er?"

"It's a long story, lad. I don't even know if it's a true one."

"Are ya gunna do somethin' about it? Does she need help?" Brynjolf scoffs. The last thing she'd want is his help. And how would he know how to help her if he doesn't know what to help her with. He'd probably just end up making things worse. Again. _I'm fooling myself._

"I don't know if there'sanything I can do at this point. I've screwed it up enough already."

"Oh." Aiden tucks his hands under his armpits and lets his legs give out so he's sitting like Brynjolf. "So… do you think we'll get to see 'er again?" He asks, voice so quiet that Brynjolf could barely hear it. The lad was excited to hang out with her more often and show her some of the new skills he's acquired. He knows for a fact Krosa would have entertained him, and would have enjoyed it. But would probably pretend not to. She liked Aiden. _Looks like I screwed over more than just her._

"No, lad," Brynjolf says, resigning himself to the fact. " I don't think we will."

Krosa watches as the sun sets below the horizon, its final rays flickering against the darkened sky. Struggling to stay alive. She turns her gaze to the stars that are visible, and the soft and swirling green mist that dances through them. Cyrodiil never had anything like that, nor Hammerfell. She tries to find peace in the beauty of Skyrim like she has done so many times before. It doesn't come. Maybe it's mocking her. Looking like a dream, drawing her in with its beauty, rendering her blind to what should have been clear as day. It distracted her, and now she's suffering for it. _Now what am I going to do?_

Whatever drove her before is gone. She has no wish to do anything at all. Nothing and nowhere and no one. Once again, she's alone, but it's different now. Somehow, despite the emptiness and- and- She doesn't even know what she's feeling. _Maybe it's the truth settling in._ And whatever that brings with it.

"It's getting dark and dinner's ready," Gerdur says from the door, and Krosa doesn't even flinch in surprise. She wasn't even on guard and alert. Nothing really surprises her anymore. Nothing really feels worth protecting anyway.

"You've been standing there for hours. Stop brooding and come inside." Ulfric demands and Krosa has to roll her eyes.

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh, that's al-" Gerdur starts, but Ulfric cuts in.

"I don't care. You're eating." Krosa doesn't move. "Come in and eat with dignity before I drag you in myself." Krosa turns to glare at him, but sees Gerdur's face before his. She must have shown a sign of weakness, because Ulfric then says "Gerdur has been nice enough to let us stay here, fix us up, and feed us. The _very_ least you could do is enjoy the fruits of her labors."

"If she doesn-" Ulfric puts a hand on Gerdur's shoulder, stopping her from speaking further. Krosa doesn't meet his eyes as she makes her way over to them. She doesn't have to see his face to know that his eyes are shining with triumph. Maybe she will spar with him just so she can punch him in the face. Or maybe the groin, that would be more satisfying. _Where would his pride be then?_

Dinner is quiet at first, and awkward. When conversation starts up between Ulfric and Gerdur, Krosa only half listens to it and doesn't participate. She doesn't even spare them a glance. All she does is push her food around on her plate and taking the occasional bite to satisfy Ulfric. She doesn't know how long it is until something they say catches her interest.

"I came across neither of them on my way here, or with their bodies. They may resurface somewhere."

"Wait. Who are you talking about?"

"Ah. So she can speak."

"We were talking about my brother and Hadvar."

"Hadvar?"

"That imperial soldier you were so keen on dragging through the tunnels of the keep." Krosa blinks. "Don't tell me you forgot about it." She did, and so many other things. It all comes back in a rush. _How could I have forgotten all of that?_ Like the fact that a town was attacked by a dragon as fire fell from the sky. People dying all around her. Trudging under the keep, barely still alive. And there was something else- _A dream? Or was it a nightmare?_ She can't remember but knows there was something. Something important. Her head starts pounding, and her bones start quaking. _What is wrong with me?_

"What about the dragon," Gerdur asks, drawing Krosa back to the present, though her head still reels with the overwhelming dread.

"It was last seen flying past here whilst you were unconscious," Ulfric says nodding to Krosa who goes quiet again as she listens to them talk. She'd rather not clue them into her struggle with a trembling voice.

"What's going to be done about it? What if it attacks again?"

"It seems like the only option is to inform the rest of Skyrim what happened so they can prepare themselves."

The dragon. It spoke to her while she slept, immersed in a world of ruin. _Is that what's going to happen?_ And there were voices, too many, too savage and too quiet to understand. Her heart quickens at the memory. They were trying to tell her something, but-

"It was going in the direction of Whiterun. They should be the first to know!" Gerdur exclaims, shocking Krosa back to the conversation and a room that's spinning. Krosa gets up, bracing the table to keep from reeling backwards.

"Where are you going?" Ulfric asks, tone as demanding as always. _I can't do this right now._

"I'm leaving."

"Leaving? But surely Skyrim is too dangerous right now." Gerdur says, standing upright, worry in her eyes.

"That won't be a problem." Krosa says, releasing her death grip on the table and taking a breath as the spinning slows. "I'm leaving Skyrim." This place has been nothing but trouble for her anyway. _And now with dragons about, what's the point in staying?_

"Oh." Gerdur relaxes, and is about to say something else before Ulfric decides to cut in.

"Sit down."

Krosa meets his glare with her own. "No."

"Sit down or-"

"I don't take orders from you."

His gaze darkens. "Only a coward would flee at the first sign of danger."

"Call me what you like, I don't care. I was going to leave before that _thing_ showed up."

"You'd leave Skyrim in its time of need? When you can help do something about it?" He rises to his feet, voice laced with anger. "Do you _really_ not know anything about honor?"

"This. Isn't. My. Problem!" Krosa enunciates, arms swinging wildly. _Why is this man so full of shit_. "I am nothing but a damned _mercenary_! I don't fight wars or dragons." Krosa takes a step closer to him, refusing to be a scared prey running from his predatory gaze. "If you want someone to save _your_ country, **you** do it! _You're_ the one who can shout a man to pieces _and_ has an army at your back! I'd hardly make a difference!"

He says nothing for a moment, and Krosa has to restrain herself from lashing out. Of all the parts of her that she hates, her inclination for violence is the one she is disgusted by the most. She curses the ones who made her like this. Who made her so lethally capable that that's all anyone can see. _I don't want to be like this. That's them, not me._ So she reigns in the anger, knowing that his relentless gaze will catch on to her submission. She shoves down the mortification that comes when she backs down.

"Do you really think so lowly of yourself?" Ulfric asks, voice gentler than she's ever heard it before. He breaks her gaze, eyes resting on where she knows her bandages are peeking out of her shirt, hiding old and new scars.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Krosa crosses her arms, trying to shield herself from his burning stare. He meets her eyes again, an unreadable look in them.

"I've only seen you in action once, and it was while you were half dead. Yet somehow you still helped me slaughter a whole troop of well-trained soldiers."

Krosa scoffs. "How well-trained could they have been if I was able to take any down in the state I was in?" A smirk graces his features as he lets out a small huff of laughter.

"That is true. But there were also the spiders." He points out, a hint of humor in his voice

"Which I got poisoned by."

" _Poisoned_?" He exclaims, all traces of mirth gone in an instant. "You knew that and you didn't say anything?"

Krosa shrugs "What difference would it have made?"

 _Talos help me, I cannot handle this woman._ Ulfric thinks as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He always seems to lose his composure around her. _She's so damned difficult. It's no wonder she has no-._ He takes a deep breath to calm his temper as she did before. He can't go giving into it when she's proven she can hold back her own. If he can't do it, what would that make him?

"Don't get all huffy-" Ulfric hears her say, and can picture the annoyed look on her face. He doesn't let her continue. He doesn't have _that_ much patience.

"One more word and-"

"Stop fighting!" Gerdur shouts, and Ulfric and Krosa both turn to her in surprise. _I forgot she was here._ One look to Krosa tells him she's as thrown off as he is. "This isn't about the two of you, so set your differences aside and settle this like adults. All I ask is for you to spread the word." The woman turns to Krosa, a steel to her gaze that wasn't there before "That's it. You don't have to get anymore involved."

"Why me?"

"Because if I show my face anywhere but in my holds, I'll be executed on the spot, not to mention no one is likely to believe me." Ulfric says, hoping she'll listen to reason.

"If I go, I'll have a group of relentless, barbaric bounty hunters chasing after me, stripping me of any semblance I could possibly have of a normal life for the unforgivable crime of wanting my freedom." She crosses her arms "I'm sorry, but it's not happening."

Ulfric hesitates a moment, baffled by the information. _Her freedom? What could that mean?_ His mind reels with the possibilities, but he forces himself to stay focused. A plan forms in his head, one that's sure to work.

"I seem to remember you owing me a favor." He says slowly, watching her reaction. "Let this be my favor." She blinks in confusion, and he starts to see hints of resentment cross her face, so he adds "If you need someone to help solve your problem, I do have an army at my back." The resentment fades and is replaced by doubt.

"And what would that cost me?" She asks carefully.

"Consideration."

"Of what?"

"I want you to reconsider your opinion of me and my purpose, and maybe even join in my efforts to rid Skyrim of its relentless oppressors." As soon as the words left his mouth, he could see that he lost her interest. More than that. She saw through his subtle attempt at manipulation, a miscalculation that could very well cost him every trace of goodwill he had won from her. He watches as it all dissipates in one scant second.

"I don't need your help." The world seems to pause for a moment, as if it's holding its breath.

"But we need yours." Gerdur says gently, drawing Krosa's gaze, and the world has yet to go on breathing. "Please, miss. All I ask is for you to inform Jarl Balgruuf of what has happened, and to ask him to help." A second passes, then another before Krosa speaks.

"I'll do it, but then I'm done" She turns to Ulfric "And you can forget about it."

"Are you sure you-" One look from her renders him silent, something that has never happened before.

"Use your army for what it's meant for." Krosa says, turning to walk out the door. "After this, you won't see me again."


	21. Noble Deeds

Krosa watches as the sun starts to rise, and she welcomes the little warmth it brings to the frigid landscape. _It's about damn time._ Krosa thinks, rubbing her arms vigorously. The cloak she stole from the Riverwood shop isn't doing its job as well as it should. _But at least the dye worked._ One of her hands goes to her hair. The dark tint is still unfamiliar to her, as well as it's new length. It only barely passes her shoulders now, shorter than it's ever been before. She'll have to find a new way to keep it out of her face. Sweeping it over one shoulder no longer works.

 _This better work._ She had spent most of the night adjusting her appearance, as well as trying to wash away the dark spots the dye left on her skin. _If it doesn't work, they can forget about my help._ She's not entirely sure why she's still going anyway. No one would know if she just left like she planned. No one except for her.

A snowflake falls into her vision, and she picks up her pace. She's heard that Skyrim winters are brutal, and now, after all this time she starts to think that maybe it'll be worse than she originally thought. After her first impression of the place, she assumed that everyone lied or were just trying to find something to complain about. She did notice the Imperials tended to do a lot of that while she was there. But, they were right. Skyrim's nothing but a damned cold place filled with damned cold-hearted barbarians.

Whiterun comes into view then, the silhouette of the city almost as daunting as she imagined it would be. _This is so stupid._ Krosa brings her hand to her head, trying to focus, to think. In doing so, she catches sight of a blotch of darkened skin. _This will never work._ She considers turning around and walking away. For a moment she nearly does. She waits till her heart slows before starting towards the city again. _I really am nothing but a damned fool._ No wonder she always finds herself in unfavorable predicaments. _I never learn._

The trek to the city doesn't take long. Krosa decides that following the winding road isn't worth it, and instead trudges through the farmland. It's quiet, eerily so. The only movement is the snow falling and the gusts of wind whipping through the dried grass. Krosa picks up her pace.

When the city's walls loom over here, she stops. _Should I use the gate or try to climb up?_ Brynjolf did mention that there were secret entrances to the city, and it would be safer than waltzing through the front gate with anyone able to see her. But the gate would be faster and easier, plus Brynjolf also said that the Alik'r most likely would have gotten kicked out anyway.

Krosa scoffs at the irony in her relying on Brynjolf's advice, but as much as she hates to admit it, his logic was sound. Even if it is the same logic that led him to turning her in. She really shouldn't have been surprised. Everyone always wants something _._ _He couldn't get me to help his guild, so he took matters into his own hands._ She doesn't know what would be worse, that he had been playing her the whole time or turned on her at the last second. Krosa shakes her head. _Stop dwelling. You have a job to do._ She heads for the gate.

"Stop right there!" A guard yells, and Krosa rolls her eyes, but does what she's told. The guard approaches her, sizing her up before meeting her eyes. "The city's closed with dragons about. Officials only."

"Why?"

"I- why what?"

"Not let anyone into the city?" The guard hesitates.

"Because... there's dragons about."

"And how is that supposed to help?"

"I-"

"We have our orders." Another guard calls out. The guard before her remains silent, struggling to look her in the eyes.

"Fine. Then _you_ can tell your Jarl all about the dragon attack at Helgen." Krosa says, turning away. _At least I tried._ She thinks, mentally shrugging. They won't get any details, but at least-

"Wait! Gorm, let her through!" Krosa sighs, her heart skipping several beats. She's already done more than she wanted to do in the first place. Once she steps into the city, there's no going back. Krosa can only expect the worst to happen. But if she walks away now she really is as cowardly and selfish as Ulfric claims. She never thought she was the type to do foolish things out of spite, but here she is. The gate opens, and she forces herself to go through it.

The city's not as quiet as the world outside, which is surprising given the time of day. People are huddled under lanters whispering loudly, others running to and fro preparing for what someone says has to be the end of the world. Krosa makes it past them all, not sparing anyone a second glance. _Don't act suspicious. Don't-_ Someone approaches from behind. Krosa spins around, hand on her weapon to see a frightened old woman stagger back.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you! I saw you come in!" Krosa relaxes as the woman continues "Please, you must know something!"

Krosa doesn't get the chance to answer. A booming roar comes from the sky, and the woman scampers away in fear, taking shelter in the tavern. Others do the same. A few remain outside, eyes wide as they search the sky for what could be their impending doom. Krosa continues on her way, pace a little quicker than before.

The rest of the way to Dragonsreach is uneventful. The guards at the door don't stop her, but they watch her closely, ready for anything. She opens the door to raised voices, the officials arguing on what is to be done. A dunmer woman spots Krosa making her way to them and approaches her, weapon drawn and a warning glare on her face. Krosa lets her come.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"I have information about a dragon attack on Helgen." The woman's glare darkens, but before she cam spit anything out, Krosa continues. "I also have limited patience. Either let me deliver my message or send me on my way. It doesn't make a difference to me."

"Ha!" The woman laughs darkly, "How about I-"

"Irileth, let her through! This is information we all need to hear." The Jarl calls from his throne. The woman doesn't take her eyes off of Krosa, but calls back to him

"But sire, she could be a threat."

"If she was here to harm me, this would be a terrible time and place to do so. Step aside." The woman does, and Krosa passes her without a second glance. The Jarl watches her approach, the only silent one amidst a gaggle of whispering noblemen. "You must excuse Irileth. She is dedicated to her job, and ever since the Alik'r incident that happened not too long ago, we're all on edge." He pauses, as if gauging for a reaction. Krosa doesn't give him one. He continues. "Now that there's rumors of dragons about, fear rules over us all."

"There is no harm in being cautious, sire." Irileth says, returning to her place beside his throne. The Jarl waves her off.

"In any case, you said a dragon attacked Helgen?" The Jarl asks. Krosa nods. "And you were there?"

"I was."

"And what is the fate of Helgen?"

"As far as I know, there is no more Helgen." The room goes silent and the Jarl straightens in his seat.

"Tell us everything." Krosa doesn't even know where to start.

* * *

There's a stench, a terrible smell of burning flesh. Light and dark swirl under Krosa's eyelids as she regains consciousness. A move of her leg and pain erupts throughout her body. She takes another, gasping breath, groaning when her lungs resist.

Krosa opens her eyes as she struggles to breathe. She can't see straight.

There's ringing.

Shadows moving.

The world tilts as Krosa rolls her head to the side. There's something next to her. Someone. Her voice doesn't work. She pulls herself closer, hand reaching out to roll them over. A charred face looks back at her, mouth agape and eyes melted out of their sockets. She tries to move away, scrambling back and getting to her feet. She can't. Blood splatters onto the ground. Her blood. Something lands on her shoulder, and she shakes it off violently, coughing up more blood. Muffled voices breach the ringing, but she can't understand a word. It comes back stronger, pulling her up. _Oh._

The ringing quiets.

There's crying...and- and people are screaming and-

People are dying.

A man wails as he clutches a small body to his chest. A woman crushed beneath debris cries out for help as the rest of the building collapses on top of her. Krosa takes another staggering breath as she watches it happen. She can no longer hear her cries.

There's fighting. The general shouting orders to his men.

"Get the people to safety!" He shouts at the men who are frozen in fear. Others shoot into the sky. Krosa looks to where they're aiming their bows. The question on her mind evaporates as her eyes widen.

The sky is on fire.

Flaming rocks come crashing to the ground in an unforgiving onslaught. Krosa's heart misses a beat as she watches a black beast fly through the wreckage, it's fiery breath decimating a line of soldiers.

"Hey, can you hear me!? You need to come with us!" The voice shouts, and she sees a man clad in blue. The hands help her to stand, and she lets them. When she's on her feet, she casts another look around. Children are hiding under stairs. A civilian drags an injured soldier to safety. The man tugs on her arm. "There's nothing we can do for them. We need to save ourselves." Krosa nods, and follows his lead.

* * *

"Haming! Haming get over here right now!"

Krosa stays crouched behind the burning shrub, wondering if the soldier and his friend are distracted enough for her to make a break for it. She's healed herself enough to at least be able to run to the other side. But the sight of the boy crying over his dying father delays her. There's a roar in the sky, and Krosa can hear the thunder of the dragon's wings getting louder.

Krosa sees it coming before they do. _I'm going to regret this._ She shoves the soldier back and to the ground as she charges forward, leaping at the kid. They both fall to the ground, and Krosa uses their momentum to roll out of the way of the bout of fire that comes raining down, leaving a line of destruction in its wake. The wave of heat sears her skin, but she pays it no mind as she gets to her feet, dragging the boy with her as she takes cover under the wreckage of a fallen building.

They look back. At the sight of his father's now scorched body, the kid cries out and tries to run to him. Krosa clamps her hand over his mouth as she holds him back. He bites into her hand, but she keeps it there, watching the shadows. Waiting for it to be safe. Once the coast is clear, the imperial soldier and the other man come to join them, and the boy runs to them, collapsing into the man's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. The man comforts him as the soldier approaches Krosa.

"Thank you for saving him, prisoner." Krosa nods, stepping away. "If you come with us, I can pardon you. You weren't meant to be there anyway."

"How does that come into play now and not earlier?" Krosa asks, barely recognizing the raspiness of her voice.

"I couldn't do anything about it then, but I can now. You'll be better off with us...and it seems we'd be better off with you too." It doesn't take Krosa long to decide. At the moment, they don't have the luxury of that. She nods and they start on their way, keeping close to the wall and staying low to the ground.

* * *

"The Imperials were executing Stormcloak soldiers." Krosa says as she shrugs off the memories. Those parts aren't important. "I was next in line." She reluctantly states, not knowing how else to explain her being there.

"You're a Stormcloak?"

"No, but they thought I was."

"And why is that?"

"I was at the Inn where the Imperials ambushed Ulfric and his men. They assumed-"

" _Ulfric_ was there?" The Jarl exclaims, getting to his feet. The officials begin whispering again as the Jarl takes it in. The energy in the room darkens. After a few moments, the Jarl settles back into his chair, hand running through his beard. "Hmph. That explains why they didn't wait to execute him in Solitude or Cyrodiil."

"Could he have been the one to summon a dragon?" One of the officials asks, and the Jarl looks to Krosa.

"You were there. Do you think it was him?"

"I wouldn't put it past him." Krosa says, annoyance laced into her voice. He did tell her once that his methods were sometimes less than honorable. But- "But he was as shocked as everyone. He lost a lot of his own men as well… And it's hard to believe that anyone has the power to summon a dragon." Krosa states, cringing at the idea of Ulfric commanding a dragon.

"Did he escape?" The Jarl asks, interrupting her musings.

"Possibly."

"Are there any other survivors?"

"I don't know." Krosa says, scowling at the bite mark on her hand. Left by a boy who may no longer be alive.

"How did _you_ make it out alive?"

"I had help."

"And those who helped you?"

Krosa sighs, knowing that they may not take her word for it. She wouldn't if she was in their shoes. And in any case, she's too tired to lie. She doesn't really see a point for it anyway.

"We got separated."

The Jarl studies her, and Krosa holds his gaze.

"For all we know she-" Irileth starts. Krosa doesn't let her finish.

"The dragon was seen in Riverwood the day after, flying in this direction."

"How close do you think it is?"

"Close enough for the whole town to hear it as I was coming in."

"Then we must prepare." He starts barking out orders, his people quickly scuttling away to do his bidding. Krosa stands there, wondering what she should do next when he turns to her. "Thank you for coming to me with this. It will not go unrewarded, but for now, I do believe there is another thing you can do for me. Suitable for one of your particular talents."

"What do you know about my talents?" Balgruuf signals for the remaining guards to leave.

"I had thought to ask you to do this for me before the Alik'r ran you out of the city." He states matter-of-factly. _Run._ Krosa ignores the thought and stands her ground.

"What are you talking about?" The Jarl scoffs.

"I'm no fool, Krosa. The dark hair may disguise you from a distance, but up close it's useless for those who know your face."

"I've never seen you before."

"But I've seen you. The Alik'r have a remarkable memory. Their painting of you isn't too far off." He pours himself a glass of mead and takes a sip. Krosa watches him, fighting the urge to act. "There's no need to worry. I'm not going to give you to them, despite your criminal past."

"Why would you risk trusting me? I'm sure what they told you-"

"You sought me out despite the risk to yourself, and have done Whiterun a great service by doing so. That is something I do not take lightly, nor is it something I will forget."

"I don't understand."

"You've been here many times before and there wasn't any incident. The Alik'r were the ones to assault my city and its people. So far all you've done is help. I don't care about the rest."

Krosa struggles to respond. _This doesn't make any sense._

"You can't mean that." She finally states. He looks at her with an amused look in his eyes.

"I assure you I can. If I didn't, we wouldn't be here."

"And if they come back?"

"They won't. I made it very clear that they would not be welcomed."

"What makes you so sure I won't go crazy and kill your people?" Krosa asks, voice rising a notch. _"_ I'm sure the Alik'r didn't leave that part out."

"Interesting." He states, swirling the mead in his cup.

"What?"

"It seems the concept of trust is foreign to you. You think I'm trying to trick you. Yet here you are, not running away, not attacking. Just talking. That doesn't strike me as something the guilty would do."

"But what if I am guilty? What if I did kill those people?"

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret." He sets the cup down and shifts in his seat. "Alik'r officials would never send such large and loud groups to foreign countries to search for a criminal. They'd do it quietly and with permission, not to mention they wouldn't attempt to ransack a city while trying to chase them down. That leads me to believe that those men weren't on the right side of the law, which would mean that the ones you would have killed weren't either."

Krosa doesn't know what to say. This whole time she thought she was running from the law. If that isn't true, then who has she been running from this whole time? Anyone else who would be chasing her should be dead.

* * *

Nazir looks at the bodies around him, the familiar faces that now lie in the dirt. _Where they belong._ He eyes the one who carried their supplies and makes his way over to his dismembered body. Nazir takes a moment to feel pride in the beauty of it. He's been wanting to do that for a long time for what they did to the poor kid. That memory will haunt him forever. _I never should have brought her there._

The pack yields nothing useful to him, only necessities for survival. _What are they doing here?_ Were they searching for him? They were searching for somebody. That much is obvious _And there may be more of them._

There's movement, a small twitch of a finger, and Nazir makes his way over to its owner, pulling him up by his cowl. The man's left eye is swollen over, and the gash in his head hasn't slowed. Nazir chuckles.

"You're taking longer to die than you should. That's good. It means you can answer my questions." The man spits in his face. Nazir grimaces as he wipes it off. _Why do people always have to be so damned difficult?_ "So. You want to do this the hard way? That's good too. I'll have more fun this way." He slams the man's head into the ground, effectively knocking him out, then sighs before hefting the man over his shoulder. It'll be a long walk back to the sanctuary.


	22. Lost and Found

Nazir is starting to think that he should have left the man more alive. _Leaving him more intact certainly wouldn't have been so bad,_ Nazir thinks as he drags the body up a hill. _Then the bastard could have walked._ He must weigh at least three hundred pounds— or at least he used to. Until he lost his arm. But Nazir hardly thinks an arm would make much of a difference.

Cauterizing the wound was a bitch. Nazir still has a headache from all the man's screaming. Though, Nazir has to feel a little proud with his thoroughness. He'll take his wins where he can. _They'll pay for what they did._ Nazir will make sure they all die screaming. It's the least he could do for her.

Nazir remembers the day he found her. The fire. The screams. The slaughter. The child crying out in the darkness of the forest as she fought. Nazir had never seen such a little thing put up a fight like that before. He should have left her alone. He remembers the day he lost her. He knew something wasn't right. He knew he shouldn't have left her behind. If only he hadn't fallen complacent. If only he wasn't so foolish.

 _I never should have taken her in in the first place._ Her life was a sorry one because of him, and shorter than it should have been. He digs into his pocket, pulling out the damaged scroll that the lead Alik'r had. Blood stains the majority of it, making the picture hard to make out. But that hardly matters. He already knows whose face he'll see there. What's important is the sigil at the top of the page. It belongs to _them._ And that could only mean one thing. _They've finally come for me,_ he thinks, tucking the scroll away. _And I need to know why._

They've left him alone all these years. Nazir isn't dumb enough to believe he could have hidden from them this whole time. His first few years in Skyrim were ones of always looking over his shoulder. Survival was the only thing he cared about. It wasn't until Astrid found him and brought him in that he started to care about living for enjoyment. He will forever be grateful for that.

The sun is high in the sky by the time Nazir makes it to the Sanctuary, and for once he's glad for the chill of Skyrim. If it were as hot as Hammerfell, he'd be sweating like a pig. _This will be fun to explain to the others,_ he thinks as he says the password to open the door. As soon as he gets to the main cavern, all eyes turn to him.

"Have you brought me a new toy?" Babette asks, running up to him to ogle the half-dead man. The glee in her eyes at the sight makes Nazir wonder what the child is planning.

"I'm afraid he's lost too much blood to be of any use to you."

"I'm patient."

Nazir laughs. "That's good, because you'll have to wait for your turn."

The vampire child pouts at that, but lets him be. Veezara and Arnbjorn don't say anything as he drags the body further into the Sanctuary, though they do look intrigued. It's not a very rare sight, someone dragging in a dead or half-dead body. Only the more sadistic of them get off on torture, though they've all had the mood strike them at least once. Usually it's not Nazir who brings in such a guest, and he knows they'll be disappointed when they learn he won't be sharing.

"I have something for you."

"Truly? I've been _so lonely_ lately. How did you know?" Gabriella purs, a finger running down the half-dead man's chest. "Oh my," Gabriella exclaims, making a show out of noticing the man's missing arm, "you seem to have broken him. How rude."

Nazir laughs. "Luckily for you, he's not beyond repair."

"So rather than giving me a present, you're asking me to give you one? Oh Nazir, don't you know anything about proper etiquette?"

"Enough with the sarcasm. Heal him enough to be able to talk and think clearly. I need to question him. You and Babette can fight over him when I'm done."

"Very well."

Nazir turns to leave, pausing a moment when he hears her voice.

"You're a pretty one aren't you," he hears her coo, "and _look_ at those muscles. Oh. I'm going to have _so_ much fun—"

Nazir shakes his head and continues walking, deciding he doesn't want to hear the rest of the one-sided conversation. Gabriella likes to turn everything into an event. He sets out for Astrid. She likes being informed on anything going on here. Part of him dreads it. She's usually not the one for questioning, but this will pique her interest. She'll want a full explanation.

* * *

 _This is a trick,_ Krosa tells herself. _None of this makes sense._ But why would he trick her? What would he gain from it? She tries to tell herself she needs to leave, trying to awaken the sense of urgency and self-preservation that has driven her all this time, but it's not there. _Maybe I really don't care anymore_.

"What's the job?" Krosa finally asks, hoping the hoarseness of her voice is taken as exhaustion and not a sign of her hopeless emotional state. Maybe her body's too tired to function properly and that's why she's so out of it.

"Come, let's go find my court wizard," the Jarl says, standing with a purpose and drawing her out of her downward spiral. He waves at her to follow him and Krosa does so, silently. They exit the room, and he speaks up again, "His name is Farengar. He's been looking into a matter related to these rumors of dragons. He's the one who will be needing your assistance."

"How long has he been looking into them?" Krosa asks, relieved when her voice is steady.

"It's been a passion of his for as long as I can remember. Only now does it seem that we have a use for it," the Jarl says humorously. "Either this is luck or the works of fate fulfilling the prophecy."

Krosa stops. "There's a prophecy about this?" _Then why is everyone so damned surprised?_

"You didn't know? Hmm…" the Jarl says, stopping and rubbing his chin but not bothering to turn around to face her. "I guess the legend is spoken of more than the actual history behind it. I'm sure Farengar will have a book on it if you wish to educate yourself on the matter."

"I don't."

He laughs, turning to face her as he says, "Well said."

Krosa doesn't reply. They reach a closed door in an otherwise empty hallway. The Jarl walks right in. The room reminds her of the students' rooms at the College: cluttered and stocked to the bursting point with random glowing coming from odd places.

A robed man whom she assumes is Farengar and a hooded woman are speaking in low tones. The woman stops when they enter, accusing eyes trained on them and Farengar turns to see them.

"Ah, Jarl Balgruuf. Why have you come to me? Who have you brought with you?" Farengar states slowly, tone dry and flat, as if he's lost patience with a child. It also sounds like he may be hiding an accent as well. Krosa doesn't know why else he'd pronounce everything so deliberately.

"I believe I've found someone capable enough for your little project," the Jarl says, gesturing towards Krosa. Farengar looks her up and down.

"I really do not believe you did," Farengar states, a sneer gracing his wrinkled features.

The Jarl stiffens in surprise before his face darkens in warning. "Farengar—"

"The last men you sent my way were far more impressive than her and _they_ could not do it. _She_ would probably die in the attempt."

"And why is that, Farengar?" the hooded woman asks, tone laced with warning. "Do you not think a woman is as capable as a man?"

Farengar gives her an annoyed look. "Not at all. I do not think this particular… _example_ would be very helpful. I mean, look at her," he sneers.

Krosa does have to admit he has a point. She ditched her ruined armor at Gerdur's, trading it for whatever was available in Riverwood in the dead of night. And she can only imagine how she herself looks after all that's happened in such a short amount of time.

"Besides," the mage continues, now talking to the Jarl, "I already have someone to accomplish the task." He gestures towards the hooded woman.

"And who are you?" the Jarl asks, turning to look the woman dead in the eye.

"She is a colleague of mine—"

"I didn't ask you."

"It's as he says," the woman states, and Krosa knows there is more they aren't sharing.

She doesn't know if the Jarl caught onto their stiffness, their sly side glances, or how they hid the documents on the table from view the moment they walked in. There's a secret hidden between them, important enough to hide from the Jarl. Krosa briefly wonders if it's worth mentioning, but she decides against it. _It's not my business,_ Krosa thinks, throwing the observations away. Everyone has their secrets. She looks to the Jarl who wears an unreadable expression.

"Very well. We'll leave you to it then," the Jarl states, turning towards the door. "But your disrespect will not be forgotten, Farengar. Tread lightly." They leave, and as soon as they're out of earshot the Jarl says, "You must excuse his behavior. He never was one for formalities."

Krosa shrugs. She mildly enjoyed the encounter, which is unusual. She has a low tolerance for people who underestimate her. It was also refreshing to see another person stand their ground against someone like the Jarl. It makes her feel better for constantly doing so herself.

"Now what?" Krosa asks, wondering if he'll find some other way to use her. To hold the debt she owes him over her head.

"You may leave if you wish. I will remember your willingness to help should we cross paths again. I'm sure you can see yourself out." Then he leaves her standing there.

* * *

Farengar would roll his eyes if he didn't find the act undignified. He may not have been so harsh if they didn't interrupt their conversation. _Now the Jarl will be less likely to grant me the favor I've been meaning to ask of him._ But that can wait. He was finally starting to get Delphine to open up with what she knows about the dragons. She knew more than she let on- he was sure of it. Despite their long acquaintance, he hardly knows a thing about her. Such secrecy is usually not a good sign, but she hasn't done anything untoward. _Yet_.

"Are you sure you can do this?" he asks, hoping to salvage their previous conversation. "I was not exaggerating the danger this mission—"

Delphine snorts, "Oh, so now you doubt me? Relax. I've got it under control."

Farengar narrows his eyes. "If that is so, then why have you not come to me sooner? You know I've been trying to retrieve it for years." Not to mention he had asked her long ago, but she never responded. He hadn't heard from her since. Until now.

"Before it was merely a mild interest. You never really believed they were real. I saw no point."

"And you did?"

"I had suspected."

Farengar doesn't buy that for a second. _She must be hiding something from me._ Not to mention he asked her to retrieve it long before and never heard back. This is the first he's seen or heard from her in ages.

"And that is what makes the least sense. Your timing is impeccable. Do you expect me to believe it is a coincidence you came to me on the day we learn Alduin returned?"

"I was nearby. I came here immediately after receiving news of the attack on Helgen," Delphine states, shrugging off the accusation with all the grace of what could be a practiced liar,which doesn't lessen Farengar's growing suspicion. "And what about you, Farengar? You're the only one who's been interested in dragons and the Dragonborn prophecy for a _long_ time."

"Trying to turn suspicion on me is not going to work. My intentions have always been clear. Yours, however, have never been."

"I like my privacy," Delphine says, and Farengar entertains the idea of throttling her. "Do you have any more accusations, or am I free to go?"

* * *

Krosa doesn't know what to do or even what to _think_ anymore. She doesn't trust anyone— not even herself. There's nowhere she longs to go, no friends she wants to see… but it's always been that way. Now, though, that fact weighs on her like never before.

She never felt anything like this in Cyrodiil, though to be fair, she doesn't really remember feeling anything during her time there. She can barely remember what she did day by day. Nothing stands out, it's all— Krosa sighs in frustration. That's not even the worst of it. Despite everything, Krosa finds herself reluctant to leave. There's no sense in it, no logical explanation.

 _Where would I go anyway?_ Krosa thinks, sending her mind reeling in a whole new direction. She's tired of running. Tired of being alone. Of being betrayed. Abandoned. She tries to come up with a plan. Tries to think of anyone who could help. Brynjolf briefly crosses her mind. He helped her run from the Alik'r before. She shoves the thought away violently. He's also the one who handed her to them. _I really must be desperate._

A traitorous part of her wishes she could go back in time and accept his offer when he first asked. Maybe then he wouldn't have— _There's no point in what ifs. He did what he did._ Krosa mentally scoffs when she feels a sting in her eyes. She curses herself, then realizes she's still standing in the hallway. The guards are watching. Waiting for her to leave. _It'd be humiliating to start crying now,_ she tells herself, willing them— and the thoughts that brought them— away.

Krosa leaves the building, trying to find direction in her churning thoughts. Would it be better for her to stay in Skyrim? Maybe the Alik'r think she would leave. But now there's a dragon on the loose. What about Cyrodiil? It's more densely populated than Skyrim, so she'd be less likely to stand out. She doesn't know a lot about anywhere else, other than Hammerfell, but that is a definite no. High Rock may not be too different from the places she's already been. It's a mostly human country: home of the Bretons, her kinsmen. The thought curdles in her stomach. It's also where Nazir found her and took her in after nursing her back to health. An act that was the catalyst to all of Krosa's problems.

 _There must be something wrong with me_ , Krosa decides when she heads into town to buy a room for the night— a night that is still hours away. _I must have head trauma leftover from Helgen._ It's risky, she knows it is, but she can't bring herself to care no matter how hard she tries; to comfort the part that doesn't let her forget how idiotic it is, she keeps telling herself that she'll leave in the morning.

 _"Don't get comfortable. We leave at first light," Nazir says, watching her write in her journal from across the fire._

 _"Why?" Krosa asks, throwing down her quill._ I hate this. I hate always having to leave. _She's so tired, and her body never gets the time to feel anything but soreness in every limb. He's as relentless in traveling as he is in her training._ Training for what? _she thinks, scowling._

 _"You know why. My answer is always the same.''_

 _"But it's nice here," Krosa pleads. She had seen a family today, a father, a mother, and a boy no taller than Krosa. They were smiling, laughing. The father carried his son on his shoulders with one hand entwined with his wife's as they made their way down the street._

 _"Don't be fooled, little one. Nowhere is as nice as it seems. Don't let it lull you into a false sense of security."_

 _Krosa huffs, turning in her bedroll so he can't see her tears. He has all the patience in the world for her stubbornness, but he doesn't have any for tears. Nazir sighs as she hears him come closer, and she furtively wipes them away before he can see them. His hand falls on her shoulder, and she leans into his warm touch as he bids her goodnight. It doesn't last long, but Krosa tries to remember the feeling for as long as she could. She imagines her and Nazir as that family, having found a place where it was safe for them to stay, and lets a small smile grow on her face as she falls asleep._

Krosa's heart jolts at the memory, and jolts again as a burst of laughter breaks through her thoughts. Her attention is drawn back to the rowdy tavern. Everyone around her is as careless as can be.

They sing songs with the bard, some even dance to the tune. While the scene is ridiculous, Krosa finds herself envious. The wild gestures and animated voices are loud and grating on the ears, but there's plenty of smiles and laughs to go around. It baffles her. When she first arrived, everyone was wrought with fear. Now that the sun has gone down, they seem to have forgotten it.

 _Maybe they've all drowned their worries in their mead... Or they're too drunk to know about the danger._ Krosa has heard that some Nords are in a constant state of drunkenness. She's never been much of a drinker, but now she's wondering if it's worth it to try. It may be nice to forget about all her troubles for a while.

A man lets out a loud belch and Krosa cringes in disgust as he's applauded by his friends, an applause that ends quickly as the man then throws up the contents of his stomach. Krosa grimaces at the smell. _But at what cost?_ When his friends look like they may follow in their friend's lead, she leaves the tavern.

Which was a mistake. She has only a moment to panic when she sees someone with ginger hair storm into the marketplace.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Krosa considers running. Either the Jarl backed out on his promise or his personal guard decided to take matters into her own hands. It wasn't hard to tell that the Dunmer woman did not like or trust her. However, Krosa can't help but notice the woman has no guards with her. Which is not the smartest move if you were trying to catch a dangerous criminal.

"What do you want?" Krosa asks, ready for anything.

"Your help."

Okay. She was ready for anything _but_ that. _What would she need_ my _help with?_ Krosa scrutinizes the woman. Anyone can tell that Irileth is the kind of woman who doesn't ask for help lightly. Krosa half-wonders if it's a trap of some kind.

"With what?"

"There was a dragon sighted circling the western watchtower."

"And?"

"We need all the help we can get. The Jarl sent a large portion of the guards to Riverwood."

Dread pools in her stomach, stronger than it's ever been before. Fear claws at her, sinking in and ripping her to shreds. The destruction of Helgen flashes through her mind: the slaughter, the fire, the screams, the smell— the hopelessness of it all. Just the thought of facing it again makes her dizzy. She shakes her head, trying to shake the feeling.

"The Companions—"

"I already went to them. They're coming."

"Then why do you want me?"

The woman shifts awkwardly. "We may need your expertise."

"My _what_?"

"You're the only person here who has faced one and survived," Irileth quickly states. " _Please_. If we are to have _any_ chance— " She takes a deep breath, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose.

It's the 'please' that gets her. The fact that the woman is asking, not demanding; there's real fear in her eyes, real desperation and— and Krosa can't say no.

"Alright."

Krosa can see the relief set into the woman's shoulders, and looks away annoyed. _I'm probably going to regret this,_ Krosa thinks, sighing in defeat. _Actually, you're probably going to die._ Krosa wonders if that'd really be so terrible.

"Thank you. I know the Fall of Helgen must have—" Krosa winces. _Does she really have to bring it up?_ "You don't have to fight. Just tell us what we should expect."

Krosa wants to take her up on that. Not fighting for once would be nice. But then what? Hear that they've all gotten themselves killed in the attempt? Face the dragon when it turns to a defenseless city? She knows her capabilities, knows she's a better fighter than most. With her magic, she has yet to meet her match. In her experience, even the slightest advantage can tip the scales. Without her, despite her meagre knowledge on dragon-slaying, she knows they're likely to get roasted alive in seconds. _Unless I help_. Krosa wants to retch when she speaks.

"I'll fight." At the expression the woman gives her, she adds, "it's all I'm really good for."


	23. To Kill a Dragon

Jarl Balgruuf is an intelligent man, usually not one prone to gambling. As a Jarl charged with protecting an entire hold, he's worked hard to ensure that he can provide his people safety and security. His ability to sniff out any trouble before it begins has proven useful on many occasions. Since he came to power, there have been no serious mishaps. He prides himself in it, just as he prides himself in his ability to read people and their intentions. It has served him well. Yet, while he senses no ill-will from this Krosa woman, he's unable to come up with any sort of intent from her at all.

Caution is usually a must when dealing with the unknown. But in this case, his curiosity is paramount. Balgruuf finds that he pities the girl just as much as he is intrigued by her. Her clear reluctance to trust is astounding. Especially when paired with the fact that she wholly ignores it. It wouldn't be the first time he's seen someone so distrustful and reclusive, but it is definitely a first to see that type of person risk it all for the betterment of people she has no association with. He can see the effects that her inner battle has on her... well the effects of what he _assumes_ to be a battle. He'd be lying if he claimed to know for sure, even if no one else bears witness to his claim.

 _She shows remarkable restraint,_ he adds to himself, also remembering the tell-tale signs of someone ready to run at the first sign of danger. A level head on her shoulders is sure to be the reason behind it. But it does not explain why she is helping those whom she has no obligation to help, all while she, as far as he can tell, despises every second of it.

He _is_ ashamed to admit that her compliance with Irileth was a surprise. As well as when she accepted the job he offered… and her quiet grace at being so verbally manhandled by Farengar. Not many people's dignity survives such an encounter with the man. And he knows all warriors protect their dignity with unhealthy fervor. Maybe the fact she's not a Nord has something to do with it.

Balgruuf mulls over all this information, letting it run circles in his mind. There are so many contradictions, so many signs of _something._ And the timing of it all, oh the _timing_. He doesn't know yet what this is all leading to, but he has his suspicions. After all, if prophecy is to be believed, then it won't be long until the hero meant to save them all will make their appearance. _Unless they already have._ He eyes the recluse woman standing in Irileth's shadow; her face set like a flint as Irileth speaks for her. So stoic and— Krosa's gaze cuts over to him, her golden eyes lack any sort of feeling.

Balgruuf barely has a moment to process the look in them. Despite the emptiness, there's almost a feralness to them, a hunger. There's also something... familiar. As if he's seen them somewhere before. Then it hits him. She has eyes like a dragon's. He's only seen illustrations of them in books, but he knows for sure that's what it is. Then she looks away and it's gone. Balgruuf's skin tingles, as if he's reached some sort of enlightenment. _And maybe I have._

He's never actually seen a prophecy unfolding before, but he imagines it would look something like this: pieces that normally wouldn't fit suddenly coming together, people finding themselves in impossible situations beyond their control; the one it all seems to revolve around. If his suspicions are true, then this woman has no idea what's coming for her.

But, back to the more pressing matter at hand, to what he _does_ know for a surety. A dragon is attacking the western watchtower. And it's up to him to make the decisions that could save or doom them all.

"If all that is true, how are we supposed to win against that?" Helvor exclaims, gesturing wildly. "Fiery rocks falling from the sky? A beast as big as a keep? We may be better off leaving it alone! How do we even know it'll attack?"

That was the wrong thing to say. Balgruuf watches the room erupt into chaos. His men are at each other's throats. He has never seen them this animated, this full of fear and animosity. The closest they'd get would be whenever Ulfric was the subject, that arrogant bastard.

" _Enough!_ " Irileth shouts, glaring at the lot of them. The room dies down instantly as she shoves Knud into the fray. Balgruuf sighs. _He's supposed to be recuperating._ "Let him speak."

"It was circling like a predator closing in on its prey as I ran. And I just now overheard other guards report seeing smoke on the horizon."

The room goes quiet as they process the information, grave looks on all their faces. The dragon has already started its attack. As they speak their brothers are facing it right now. Balgruuf sends a prayer up to the Divines. If the dragon's plan is to come to Whiterun next— He will not see his people burn.

"How do we know it will still be there when we get there? What are we supposed to do? Hunt it down?"

"We will do whatever we have to," Irileth states, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Let's not waste anymore time. We'll plan our attack on the way."

"No," Balgruuf states, and they all turn to look at him as if they forgot he was there. "We wait until sunrise."

"What!?"

"Sire, I've already gathered— _"_

"If what she says is true, we can _not_ afford any disadvantages. Can you or any of those you gathered even see in the dark?" His men shift awkwardly, grumbling. Even Irileth averts her gaze. Krosa's the only one to look him dead in the eye. _Interesting._ He pushes his flood of thoughts away, saving them for later. "Then we wait, and we use this time to better prepare ourselves."

"How do we know it'll still be there by then?"

"If it's not, then it isn't our problem. Unless it decides to come to Whiterun next, in which case we'll be more prepared to fight it."

"I see your logic, my Jarl, but what of the men at the tower?" Arne asks, his face betraying him. Balgruuf stands, making his way down to the somber guard. He knows who he stationed at the tower and he knows their relation.

Balgruuf places a hand on the man's shoulder, looking him in the eyes as he says, "I am sorry, truly." Balgruuf doesn't acknowledge the man's tears. There is no shame in grieving for a father. "But there is nothing that can be done for them."

The man nods, and Balgruuf releases his shoulder to look around. _Should I give a rousing speech?_ he wonders and just barely opens his mouth before a voice from across the room speaks up.

"We'll need a way to ground it. If it's in the air, only the archers will be of use."

"Our first goal should be to shred its wings then."

All those assembled start planning, and Balgruuf watches as fear and hopelessness turns into determination. He can't help but smile a small, sad smile. He is proud of these men. Men who he may not see again come morning.

"Cut off his hand."

"What!? _Why?_ " the man exclaims, sagging when the others grab his arms. She can see his legs trembling. She always thought he seemed like a coward.

 _"Raysha,"_ Xariel whispers, his hand falling on her shoulder. But she pretends not to hear him. She can't deal with his bullshit. Not right now. Not when she needs to remind them again she's the one in charge. Not him.

Raysha shrugs off Xariel and approaches the trembling man. She doesn't even remember his name. Raysha can feel Xariel's critical eyes on her back. She can feel all of them watching her. She does her best not to crack under their gaze.

"You stole my family's fortune." She says, voice and gaze as hard as steel.

"No! No, I didn't!" None of the men speak up for him.

"Then where is it?"

"I— I did as you asked! I—"

"Then where is _she_?" He whimpers. _"Where. Is. My. Money?_ "

"I didn't steal it! I gave it to the woman who—"

"It is the same."

"No, it isn't! _Please_!" The men look to her for approval. They won't do it if she doesn't tell them to. She doesn't look to Xariel. She knows what she'll see there. He doesn't want her to do this. In all the months she's known him, he's never shut up about mastering her temper. Maybe she was too quick to judgement. But she sees no other way. How else is she supposed to get their respect? She can't turn back now. The Da'vam clan doesn't tolerate weakness. None of them would have begged like this. Not even for their own lives. She can smell his urine. It's pitiful, really. "Please! Don't do this."

"Do it."

"No! Nonono—" The scimitar falls. His screams pierce the night. Raysha forces herself to watch. She must. He clutches his wrist, looking at the place his hand used to be and cries out one last time before fainting.

 _Pathetic._ Raysha thinks, steeling herself against her rolling stomach.She sees the look one of his friends is giving her. She knows that look. She's worn it more times that she can count. But he doesn't get to wear it. _Some friend he is._ He just watched. Not that it would have mattered to her, but it has shown his true colors. They are both cowards, and she knows not to test loyalties. Not when their band is still as fresh and new as the fallen snow.

"Bandage his hand," she orders the others. "See to it that he and his friend are on their way back to Hammerfell by morning. They don't deserve to be here."

They do as she says without hesitation. Raysha almost smiles. She's never ordered people around before, but she seems to be good at it. Despite her younger age, these grown men practically bow before her. Treat her as an equal— No. As if she was their master. Her, a farm girl. It makes her feel powerful. Capable. Unstoppable. And she revels in it. Someone clears their throat. Raysha turns to see Xariel standing in the same spot as before. She had forgotten he was there.

"How are we going to go on?" he asks casually, and she finds she's jealous of how good he can look just standing there. It's not fair. "How are we going to pay these men? Get supplies? All our money is gone."

"Not all of it." He gives her a look. "We'll get more. It's money. It's not like it's hard to find."

Xariel shoots her a look of disapproval. She ignores it. _He can shove his criticism up his ass. The stick he keeps there would love the company._ She knows what he's thinking. It's not hard to tell. Why care so much about the fortune when it'd be easy to replace? But he doesn't understand. He comes from somewhere else. He doesn't know their ways. It's the principle.

When he opens his mouth to argue, she starts for the trees. If they're going to argue, she doesn't want the others to witness it. Their boots crunch in the snow.

"We don't know where she would have gone," he says after they stop behind a particularly large tree, shrugging his shoulders in a pitiful attempt at seeming unconcerned. "She could be anywhere."

"Then we'll look everywhere. She'll pay for what she did." Her hand goes to her armband. She made it from her brother's sword. Melted it down herself. It's the only thing she has left of him. That and the last words he spoke to her all those years ago. Words she has never let go of since.

"Are you really going to travel the world just to find someone to kill?"

"No. Not just kill. And not just anyone. She killed my brother. My family. She needs to suffer first. And it will be by _my_ hands."

He studies her, his silver eyes searching her soul. _How poetic,_ she muses, staring back at him, not afraid to meet his eyes. She had never met a Dunmer with silver eyes before. She liked them since the first time she saw them. They were odd. Unsettling. But right now they were pissing her off.

"Don't act like you don't want the same thing," she says. Their common goal is what started their partnership. Though, she still doesn't know why he's so keen on finding her. Vengeance. Loyalty. Principle. Whatever the reason, and despite his harping, he's been an invaluable asset. None of the others would be willing to train her like he does. And if she's going to go after a trained killer, she needs to train to kill her.

"That doesn't mean I want to dedicate my whole life to it," he says, gaze unflinching. "Then she'll just be robbing us of that as well."

"Then she will pay for that too. For however long it takes."

He chuckles, breaking his gaze and shaking his head. "I do not believe I have met anyone quite like you before." Raysha doesn't think he means it in a good way. She finds she doesn't care. All that matters is finding the monster who took her brother away.

"What do you expect me to do with these?" Farengar sneers, looking at the pile of offending weapons and shields that Irileth and her entourage of guards drop unceremoniously at his feet. _They could at least be more dignified about it._ The guards pay him no mind and rush out the door. Farengar hates that _they_ get to see the dragon while he has to stay behind. Farengar can't seem to help the string of curses he mentally hurls at everyone involved.

"How many can you enchant by morning?" Irileth asks, interrupting his mental rampage.

"The most I can give you is eight."

"Only eight?"

"I cannot enchant anything to my heart's content. I need soul gems, and that is as many as I have. And I cannot even promise that number. With my speed, I believe I can only do four. Five, if the enchantment is not too—"

"What if you went faster?" Farengar sighs. "I've seen you work. Pick up your pace." _For a Dunmer, she thinks like a damned Nord._

"It does not work like that," he says, unable to leave the venom out of his tone. Sometimes he wonders if he's the only one in this city with a brain. "Rushing is a sure way to make mistakes. And I do not make mistakes."

"I can help," a voice from next to Irileth states. Farengar didn't even notice the other person in the room. The same woman the Jarl brought to him hours earlier. "I've enchanted stuff before."

He scoffs, _"You_ are a mage?"

"Yes."

"Do you possess any sort of _actual_ talent?" He highly doubts it.

The woman shrugs. "I've never had any problems."

Farengar frowns. First he had to deal with Delphine's abrasiveness, and now he has to deal with this— this _brute_? Preposterous! He'll kill himself before having to suffer the indignity.

"Let her help, Farengar. We need all we can get and we're running out of time. I'll send someone to see about getting you more soul gems." Irileth's tone leaves no room for argument, and he's already angered the Jarl enough already. Due to the same woman. He sighs, massaging his temple. _This is not how I wanted my day to go._

"Fine. But if she—"

Irileth leaves before he can finish, and he grumbles the last part to himself. He picks up a sword, eyeing it with purpose. _Which enchantment would be most useful?_

"We should only enchant shields for now."

"Oh?"

"Enchanted weapons are useless if we can't land a hit. Fire resistant shields will keep us from being burned alive."

Farengar loathes that she's right. _How humiliating._ Especially since he did not think of it first. And to think that such a brute thought would come from a woman who looks like she's done nothing but fight and roll in the dirt. It's shocking, to say the least.

"Do you even know that enchantment?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Maybe you are not as incompetent as you seem. Very well. And we should be sure to go for the larger shields then, for more coverage," he adds, feeling the need to salvage some dignity. "Let us not waste anymore time."

Krosa assumes that the old mage found her skill adequate at best. After hovering over her work for the first shield and giving a pointer or two, he left her alone. Mostly. He thoroughly checks the enchantment when she completes one and mutters something to himself each time. She was only able to hear the words 'sloppy' and 'it will do' for one of them. Krosa can only imagine what the other comments would have been.

"Where did you learn to do magic?" he asks when they each start on their third shield.

"I taught myself the basics. I visited the College a while back and the Archmage taught me a few more advanced spells."

"Savos taught you himself? Now _that_ is interesting. He only does that when he deems a student worthy." At his face, she guesses that he does not picture her as the type Savos would think of as worthy of such an honor. _These Nords and their 'honor.' It's ridiculous._

"You knew him?" she asks in an attempt to get him to stop scrutinizing her every breath. His antagonizing glare softens.

"He was a teacher when I went there. I was also a student he took an interest in. He saved me from mediocrity." He smiles, just a small sliver, then shakes it away with a curt chuckle. "That man lived longer than any man had the right, but I was sorry to hear he had passed. I wish I knew what happened."

Krosa tries not to think about it. It was so long ago… but how long has it really been? The lessons. The magic. The destruction and death. _It hasn't even been a year since then._ Everything's been happening so fast. Krosa's heart lodges into her throat. Nothing good ever stays. Disaster follows her everywhere. _And nothing will ever change._

She was finally starting to live a little. Maybe even starting to make friends. Her mind turns to all the people who had shown her a little kindness, a little understanding. She didn't even know what she had till she lost it all. Savos, the lessons, the amulet. It was the first place she enjoyed being in— the first time she did something for her enjoyment and not just survival. It was the second time someone gave her something to hold on to. The third where she could have made friends if she stopped being so damn paranoid. _And Brynjolf_ — Then Brynjolf showed his true colors. _How could I have been_ so stupid _?_

She considers going back for her stuff after all this dragon-slaying is done with. If she survives. Her journal, the doll, the amulet, her sword and shield. The sum of everything she's ever had. But the thought twists in her gut. To do so would risk winding up back to where she came from. Or worse. She doesn't even know who's chasing her. If somebody did survive— _It isn't worth the risk._ She'd rather die. Tears threaten to sting her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall, not in front of this crotchety old man.

"What have you heard?" Krosa asks, voice quiet enough to not betray her.

"Are you implying you know more than the rumors?"

Krosa didn't think she was implying anything. She struggles to reply, wondering if it's worth it to see what he knows. To trust him with the information, and if she could trust what he tells her. Savos always leaves behind more questions than answers, and she never really had the time to think about what he said to her in that cavern. To figure out what he wants her to know.

A guard saves her from replying. He comes in with a pouch of what could only be more soul gems, dropping them on the table without a word before rushing back out of the room. Farengar suggests they get back to work. He gives her the remaining shields as he reaches for a sheath of arrows. Krosa sighs in relief. _And I thought Ulfric was unpleasant._

There's a bounce to her steps despite the weight of the gold. A warmth in her heart, alleviating her from the harsh chill of the wind and snow. The darkness of the world around her seems just a little lighter and more bearable. She can't help the smile on her face. Everything is falling into place.

 _After all these years._ Of hiding. Running. Planning. _I will finally be able to prove my innocence_. She will no longer have to constantly look over her shoulder.

"My little Nightingale," Gallus whispers, fingers caressing her face as he pushes back a stray lock of hair. "What would I do without you?"

"Nothing. You would be lost without me." He chuckles. Karliah grins, standing on the balls of her feet to kiss him. He answers readily, his mouth soft against her own. He tastes like snowberries. She sags against him, dropping the necklace he was sure they had failed in getting. He hums into her mouth, pulling her closer for a moment before stepping away.

"I hate to stop so soon, but we should run before they catch us," he says, looking behind them. The sound of the guards' shouting gets clearer, and Karliah can see the light from their torches. Karliah stoops down to pocket the necklace.

"I'm right beside you."

"Karliah, my love, come look at what I found!"

Karliah groans, rolling over to see Gallus sitting at his desk, an open book in front of him. She pulls the covers up and over her face. "Come back to bed."

"Come look at this first."

She harrumphs, giving in. With the covers swaddled around her like a cape, she walks over to his desk and peers over his shoulder. Diagrams and charts fill the pages, the margins covered in Gallus's notes. One image in particular catches her eye. She points to it, tracing the lines with her finger. "What is that?"

" _That_ is what I wanted to show you. It's one of the Eyes of the Falmer."

"This again? You've been after them for years with nothing to show for it."

"Until now."

Karliah wants to tell him they can continue this conversation in the morning, but the excitement in his eyes draws her in. So she sits, only paying half-attention to what he's saying as he animatedly tells her all about what he's discovered. _This is the man I love,_ she thinks, smiling.

"What? Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, nothing," Karliah says, smiling wider. "By all means, keep talking."

Karliah smiles at the memories, and her smile widens when she sees the crumbling gates of Winterhold. She runs, forgetting the snow in her shoes and the wind in her face. And she doesn't stop running. Not until she enters the Inn. She barely contains herself as she makes her way to Enthir's room. She shoves the door open, and it slams against the wall.

He jumps and lets out a cry of alarm. He looks over his shoulder, ready to yell. He stops and stands at the sight of her. "How'd it go?"

Karliah smiles, laughs and lunges herself at him, engulfing him in a crushing embrace.

"You did it? You actually did it?" Enthir asks, excitement and disbelief laced into his voice. He's been wanting this as much as she has. Karliah only hugs him tighter as she nods, tears stinging her eyes. "Gallus would be proud."

"Gallus will be avenged," Karliah says, stepping away and wiping her tears. "And I— I will finally be free."

Morning comes and their party is joined by the Companions. Krosa had heard about them many times— mostly when someone thought that she was one of them. Apparently, they're a group of revered warriors who go across Skyrim performing heroic deeds like saving towns from bandits, slaying monsters, and rescuing children. For the right amount of coin. Krosa doesn't see how that's any different than what any other mercenaries do. But, somehow they're better. Their honor is absolute— their glory inevitable— or so they claim. Krosa has to wonder how their endless confidence in themselves hasn't gotten them killed. People like them have never lasted long in the Arena. _But,_ Krosa reminds herself, _this isn't an arena._

As she watches them laugh and chat, she has to wonder if they'll really be all that helpful against the dragon. _If nothing else, they can probably cause a distraction._ And there's the fact that it's bound to still be recovering from Helgen. There's no way it got out of there without some damage. Though, even if it did suffer injuries, it is possible they can heal quickly. Krosa's only as well off as she is due to magic; she hopes that dragons don't have similar resources.

"I can't believe it! An actual dragon! We get to fight an actual dragon!" an excited young woman with the companions whispers to another. Krosa wonders if she'll be as excited when she or one of her friends is burned to a crisp.

The oldest companion sighs, shaking his head, "It will be a sight to behold, but don't let your excitement—"

"I'm sure that it has no chance against us!" another one boasts. "Farkas will die when he learns what he missed!"

Krosa grinds her teeth, fighting her urge to snap at them. Even if they do win, she knows it won't be as easy as they seem to think it will be.

"Careful. You may just eat those words," Irileth states, looking to Krosa, before eyeing the others disapprovingly. It seems she's not a fan of the Companions either. "This beast has massacred an entire town anda platoon of Imperial _and_ Stormcloak soldiers.."

"But they were taken by surprise."

"And, our ancestors have fought and killed them before, so we know it's not an impossible feat."

Irileth only grunts, and continues to lead the way to the slaughter. Krosa's grimaces at the morbid thought, and at the twisting of her stomach. Flashes of Helgen pierce her mind, and it's all she can do to—

A shadow falls over them, and Krosa knows without a doubt what caused it. The deafening roar rattles their arrogance. They haven't even made it to the tower yet. There's nowhere to go for adequate coverage. _So much for not taking us by surprise._

"We're all going to die."

"Then our deaths will be glorious," the red-headed archer woman states.

The bald man adds, "And we will have a fine tale to tell in Sovngarde."

"Everyone, remember the plan," Irileth states, and the assigned groups scatter. Krosa is paired with a trembling guard who can barely steady his bow and the youngest of the Companions _—_ a girl who wields two swords but not very well. Krosa finds herself agreeing with the trembling guard. They're all probably going to die.

Mirmulnir knew they would come. He's not stupid enough to attack Whiterun directly. Not after what happened to Numinex. If such a dovah could fall to the hands of men, then Mirmulnir would have no chance. And Mirmulnir would not let himself fail. He had waited for this moment, for the time the _joor_ would pay for all those centuries he lie wasting away in Akaviir. For banishing Alduin. For what they did to his _zeymah_. _We will soon be reunited._

 _Vulthuryol._

 _Nahagliiv._

 _Sahloknir_.

 _Viinturuth_.

 _Vuljotnaak_.

 _Numinex._

 _Alduin._

 _Sahloknir_.

" _Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!_ " he cries as he dives down to meet them. The men scatter like leaves in the wind. He bears down on them, reveling in the smell of their fear. He dodges arrows, hardly noticing when they hit.

After all these years.

Alone for all that time.

Living with no purpose.

No love.

No _Sahloknir_.

Oh, how he's missed this. The thrill of _grah_. The _moro_. The _yol_. His Thu'um. He had no use for it in his years of exile. No _brii_. No _kah_. How wonderful it is to feel its power once again. Mirmulnir blasts them with another bout of fire and watches them burn. Hears them scream.

A net entraps him, and he's forced to land. _Foolish mortals,_ Mirmulnir laughs, _Now they have to evade more than just yol._ He tears through them, faster than ever before, and he's released. He wastes no time flying towards the sun. They don't deserve a quick death. He wants to toy with them, to make them suffer as he had.

Sahloknir will be risen from the dead. They will be together again. Alduin will reign triumphant. Mirmulniir can see it now. He can taste it, just as well as he can taste the blood of these mortals. Together, his brethren will restore what they lost and defeat the mortals for the last time. Dragons will rule over them. Dragons will be free. Everything will be as it should.

One of the mortals sends an ice bolt through his wing, and Mirmulniir comes crashing down to the earth once again. He feels his soul weaken. He knows what that means. For the first time in a long time, fear pierces his heart.

" _Dovahkiin_? No!"

There is only one mortal alive who can ruin everything and they're here. Mirmulniir fights harder. He doesn't hold back. He crushes the men like the vermin they are, but they're not the ones who matter. He needs to get to the Dovahkiin. He needs to _—_

A sword lodges itself in his throat, stealing his pride and glory. Stealing his voice. His soul. Leaving him without even a whisper. _No._ He can't even curse or call out in agony. _Nonononono._ Life was only just beginning again. He never even got to see any of their faces. And so he dies, not in a thunderous glory, but with a pitiful gasp.

 _Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde. Thuri du hin—_

Author's Note:

Dragon Language Translations

" _Thuri du hin ko Sovngarde_ " ="My overlord will devour your souls in Sovngarde"

The thrill of _grah_ (battle). The _moro_ (glory). The _yol_ (fire). His Thu'um (voice). He had no use for it for his years in exile. No _brii_ (beauty). No _kah_ (pride).


	24. As Prophecy Foretold

Krosa falls to her knees, blinded by a pulsing light. She feels it all. All of it. All of it. All at once. It swirls around her, claiming every inch of her body. It's too much. The loneliness. The anger. The despair. And more. So much more. It burns, suffocating and itching. It's too much. Feelings she didn't even know she had, that she's never felt before— doesn't even know the names of. Too much. Wishes and dreams she would have never dared to dream. Flashes of a life she never lived. Too much. And there's one more horrifying fact— that was not the same dragon from Helgen. She knew that with certainty.

 _Mirmulnir._

That was its name. _How do I know its name?_ Mirmulnir, the last dragon to live from the old age and the first to die in the new. Her insides shrivel up. Then just as suddenly as it came, it vanishes, taking her breath with it. And she's left shaking, staring at its bones. The only thing left behind. _No._ Krosa looks down at the sword still in her trembling hand. _That's not all it left behind._

The world is quiet now. Krosa doesn't know how long she's been kneeling there. She doesn't want to look around. She doesn't want to walk through the field of ashes, corpses, and blood. She doesn't want to see their mangled bodies. What would she do if she was the only one left? They'd rely on her to tell the story. _What would I tell them?_

There's a groan, the sound of movement. Krosa jumps to her feet, nearly toppling over as she looks for the source. It belongs to a guard, his body intact, but she can see where his armor has melted into his skin. She's not alone. Krosa sheathes the sword and gets to work. She can't be the only one to survive. _Then stop fretting and start healing._

Krosa curses her inexperience. Her cowardice. There may be some who are still alive, or those who would be if she didn't waste time lamenting. After doing what she can for him, she goes to find another. Then another, relieved that she isn't as alone as she thought. _Should I go get help?_ Someone who could do a better job healing than her. But she doesn't know how much strength she has left. She'd likely pass out before she gets there.

Then she hears it. The sound of running and shouting. People getting closer. _That's right. The scouts._ Jarl Balgruuf placed scouts to watch the battle and report. Help is coming. It's not up to her. Help is coming. She's so tired. Krosa can feel herself fading, she's using too much magic. She's no longer drawing it from Aetherius— the one thing Savos taught her to never do. Then she sees their silhouettes. Help is here.

* * *

Brynjolf and Aiden trudge into the Cistern, weary from a night of hard riding. Mercer didn't know he had left Riften, and Brynjolf wants to keep it that way. He doesn't know why he didn't listen to reason. He knew it would be a fruitless endeavor. But he's gotten lucky before. Aiden yawns, frowning something fierce. Brynjolf ruffles his hair.

"You did good, lad. Go get some sleep." Aiden doesn't need to be told twice. He goes to his cot as fast as his aching legs could take him. Brynjolf considers going to sleep as well but getting drunk sounds much more appealing at the moment. He counts the bodies in the cots as he goes, celebrating the fact that he'll be relatively alone in the Flagon.

"Brynjolf? I was beginning to wonder if I'd see your face today."

"Just give me a pint, Vekel."

Vekel does as he's told with a questioning expression. Brynjolf ignores him and sits at the counter, grabbing the tankard from the man's hands and gulping it down. He welcomes the burn as he sighs and slouches further into his seat.

"You know, I've never seen you mope like this over anything before. Or anyone."

"I'm not moping."

"This _Krosa_ must be something else."

"She was— _is_ ," Brynjolf blurts out before realizing his mistake. Vekel only smiles. "Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Brynjolf is not in the mood for this so he lets silence answer for him. Vekel's always had an annoying tendency to chat and gossip. He surprises Brynjolf when rather than insisting on an answer, he refills Brynjolf's tankard without a word. Vekel cleans up the Flagon as Brynjolf works his way through the drink, sipping at it rather than chugging it like a beast. Brynjolf can already feel its effects. It's stronger than usual. _Vekel really knows what he's doing._

"How did the two of you meet?" Vekel asks when he returns to the counter and refills Brynjolf's drink again.

"Someone hired her to take me to them."

"Again? How many times has that happened to you?"

"Enough," Brynjolf says, not wanting to admit the real number out loud. At Vekel's face, he adds, "Hey, in my defense that was the first time I was actually caught off guard. I don't even know what I was wanted for, or by whom."

"I'm guessing she seduced you?"

"Wh—"

"All the other mercenaries you told me about were men. That and the fact you've a certain… well, let's say _weakness_ for women—" he drifts off, letting Brynjolf fill in the gaps. In his inebriated state, it takes him a moment.

"I would be offended if you weren't right in this case."

"In this case?"

"Usually women have the same weakness when it comes to me," Brynjolf says with none too little pride.

Vekel shakes his head, a wry smile on his face. "You're too cocky for your own good. You know that, right?"

"I know you aren't the first to imply such a thing," Brynjolf says, raising the tankard to his lips.

"Was this _Krosa_ the first?"

"How do you do that?" Brynjolf asks, surprised. And mildly irritated. Being on the receiving end of someone being up in his business is less than enjoyable. And Vekel is usually not one to pry like this.

Vekel winks. "It's a gift." Brynjolf can't help but chuckle.

"She called me a _'_ feckless cad' once." Vekel throws his head back and laughs. Brynjolf glowers. "It's not _that_ funny," he mutters, taking another sip, only to realize there's nothing left.

"It sounds to me like you've met your match. Perhaps this _Krosa_ — _"_

"Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" Vekel asks with a shit-eating grin.

"Saying her name like that. 'This _Krosa._ ' It's annoying."

"Oh? Am I not allowed to—"

"You know what? Forget it," Brynjolf says, getting up to leave.

"Are you sure you don't want to drown your troublesome feelings in ale, my friend?"

Brynjolf growls, then sits. Because damn him, that is what he wants.

"Fine. But we're not talking about her. You may have everyone else around here fooled, but I know what you're doing. I already gave you enough information, I won't fall further," Brynjolf says, despite letting Vekel refill his tankard. Brynjolf brings it to his lips. It's reflex, really.

"Fall for what?"

"Don't play stupid, lad. It doesn't suit you."

"Well, you know how much I like gossip. It's my only entertain—"

"Brynjolf! I need to talk to you," Mercer demands from the door to the Cistern, startling the both of them.

"Good luck with that," Vekel says quietly. Brynjolf downs his last drink before handing it to Vekel. _What now?_ Brynjolf wonders as he makes his way over, only stumbling into a table once. Mercer looks at him for a second and scowls.

"Are you _drunk?"_

"What's got you in a mood?" Brynjolf asks, then regrets. Mercer only glares, but Brynjolf knows he's cursing him out in his head.

"I'm in a _mood_ because our guild is falling apart at the seams." He takes a step closer, practically spitting in Brynjolf's face. "I'm in a _mood_ because my right-hand man prefers getting drunk and frolicking around the country than doing his _gods-damned_ job!"

"I'm sorry," Brynjolf says, and he is. Truly. Mercer gives him a hard look before huffing and backing away.

"I've received word the guards are planning to snuff us out."

Brynjolf blinks. "As in—"

"A raid. And they don't want to take prisoners, not with the chance of escape."

"What? When?"

"Soon, and we need to be prepared for it. You think we've hit low? Well, it's going to get a whole lot worse. Remember when I mentioned relocating to Solitude?

"Are— are you serious?" Brynjolf sputters, almost at a loss for words. "No. No! We can't just abandon everything! Gallus put his heart and soul into this all have! _You_ have!"

Mercer smirks, and Brynjolf has the faint notion that's what he wanted to hear. He crosses his arms as he says, "I'm just saying to be ready for it. I'm not about to go down without a fight, but if it does happen, I'll be ready for it. I've already found a safehouse. If the Cistern falls, we won't be left with nothing."

* * *

Krosa opens her eyes, the contrast of darkness to light nearly blinding her. She must have passed out without realizing it. All she remembers is the feeling of relief, but now she feels so much more. Her throat itches. Her body aches as if she hasn't moved in days and her head has a heaviness to it that's worse than any headache she's ever had.

"Oh, you're awake? How wonderful," someone states in a tone that suggests they're not pleased. Not in the least. It takes a moment for Krosa to realize that person is Farengar, the court mage. Krosa closes her eyes again. She's not looking forward to this. "I will have you know I have never in my life seen someone as stupid and reckless as you. Are you sure you're a student of Savos? If you really were, I can tell you with full certainty that he would be sorely disappointed."

"I didn't realize—"

"Oh, you 'didn't realize'? That makes it _so_ much better." He smacks her arm. "Such foolishness could have gotten you killed more surely than the dragon! If it wasn't for me— What are you doing!?" he exclaims, his hands coming up to his temples. "Do _not_ try to get up! You are far too weak."

"I'm not weak," Krosa says, having barely sat up in the first place. It was harder than she expected it to be. All of her limbs feel disconnected from her body. Her soul feels drained, but also... there's something different. As if there's something there that wasn't before. Something that electrifies her, amplifying everything. Touch. Feel. Sight. Sound. Smell, even. And _hunger._

"Too stupid, then," he says, going on without missing a beat. "Now lay back down before I knock you out. I swear some people only serve to test one's patience." Krosa obeys, more out of exhaustion than trying to appease the crotchety old man.

"Now, before you get any more ideas, let me tell you your conditions. You are not to move from bed for the rest of the day. Tomorrow you can try walking, but you will not wander. You will stay within sight of this doorway. And don't even think about using magic for the rest of the week. It should stabilize then, though in my unprofessional opinion, I would say you should never use it again. Someone who does not respect the guidelines put in place by their betters should not get to use it."

Krosa sighs, wanting to go back to sleep if only to free her from his scolding. _Why does he care anyway?_ They barely know each other. She nearly says something, but he beats her to it.

"If you don't do as I say you will ruin all my work and die for no good reason. Then I will revive you only to kill you properly. Do you understand?"

Krosa nods.

"I didn't hear an answer."

"Who survived?"

"It is too soon to say who all will survive. I know of one person who is still at risk if they don't do as I say."

"Alright," Krosa snaps.

"'Alright,' what?"

"I'll do what you say."

"Good. Drink this. You sound like an Argonian." Krosa takes the cup, her arm feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds. The warm water trickles down her throat, but does nothing to soothe the itch.

"We lost four guards, and two of the Companions, which is less than we thought we would," Farengar states, counting off on his fingers. "Irileth is already back to business against strong recommendation. The remaining guard likely will be unable to return to work. He is the only one still unconscious, and the other Companions are more or less intact. One can not be too sure of their mental state. A band of fool-hardy… well, fools. Excited to fight a dragon. Well, I hope they have learned their lesson."

Krosa recalls Farengar nearly begging the Jarl to let him go with them, but decides mentioning it would be more trouble than it's worth.

"I know what you are thinking," Farengar says, sitting up straighter and crossing his arms. "And wanting to see one is different than wanting to _fight_ one. I would have preferred to talk to it, though I know it likely would not have wanted the same."

"Why?"

"They are magnificent creatures, though monstrous. Worthy of study and respect." Krosa opens her mouth to speak, but he waves her off. "No more words out of you. I can not stand the sound. Eat," he says, gesturing towards the food on her table. "Rest. We can talk again tomorrow." Then he leaves her there, closing the door behind him and she stares at the table. How did she not see it when she could smell it so strongly?

Krosa tears into the cold food, wondering only for a moment how Farengar knew she would wake up around this time. It tastes amazing and she can't get it down fast enough. She nearly chokes on a crumb; it tickles the itch already present in her throat. She coughs helplessly and drinks the water straight from the pitcher. The food is gone before she knows it and she frowns in disappointment. It was a lot— way more than she usually ate. But it's not enough. Not even close. _What is wrong with me?_

Voices can be heard through the door. Krosa tries to make out the words but fails. There's an argument. She can tell that much at least. The voices get closer, and finally the door opens.

"You have visitors," Farengar states, eyes going to her empty plate and his eyebrows shoot up. He turns to the intruders, two of the Companions from before, and says, "Do not rule her up. She just woke up and needs to rest." Then he leaves them there, mumbling under his breath. She hears him perfectly, but the others seem to have heard nothing. It's good to know he's the same way with everyone.

"How are you feeling?" the woman asks.

"I'm not sure."

They smirk, and the man speaks up, "You have quite the protector. Farengar wasn't letting anybody near you for the last three days."

"What?" _I've been unconscious for_ three _days?_

"Did he not tell you?" _He didn't tell me anything,_ Krosa thinks, trying to remember their conversation. The man goes on, "In any case, we're glad you're awake. We wanted to get to you as soon as possible."

Krosa blinks. "For what?"

"To thank you. We wouldn't have made it if not for you— none of us would have, I suppose, if you hadn't slain the dragon— but Aela and myself wouldn't be here if not for your efforts after the fact. "

"Farengar told us what made it possible. He was sure to chew us out in the process."

"Save your thanks," Krosa states, only barely registering their shocked faces before realizing that was the wrong thing to say. She adds, "I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for one of you."

"Who?"

"I don't know her name." Realization dawns on their faces, and Krosa remembers there was only one other woman with them.

"Reyana," they say in unison, grief coloring their expressions.

"How did she—" The man grimaces. "What happened?"

Krosa hesitates. What if they don't understand? Or think that she's responsible? What if they blame her and—They're probably wishing that Krosa had died instead. And how couldn't they? They were the girl's friend, _family,_ and Krosa is— she's nobody. To them and to everyone else. The thought is like a punch to the gut. _But they deserve to know_.

"She saved me. I— I don't know why, but— then she charged at it and— the sword—" Krosa looks at the sword sitting on a chest across the room. The girl's sword. She didn't even notice it before. She doesn't notice a lot of things, apparently. Krosa can feel their stares."I— If it wasn't for her I wouldn't have found the opening to—"

 _Maybe it would have been better if you had died instead._ And why didn't she? Why didn't the girl just let the dragon kill her? She could have used it as an opening just as Krosa did, but instead she— _Why?_ That girl had people she cared for and who cared about her. Krosa doesn't have that.

No one would mourn her if she died.

"I'm sorry I couldn't—"

"It's not your fault. I always told her—" He can't finish.

"The sword over there. It was hers," Krosa says quietly, pointing to it. "She gave it to me before dying. I killed the dragon with it." She sighs, defeated. "Maybe... I don't know, maybe that means something."

"It does. Thank you. Truly. The others will want to know this… We— we'll leave you alone now. Just— Don't— She wouldn't have wanted it any other way." They turn to leave.

"Wait. Take it." They look like they're going to object. "Please."

They probably have lots of things to remember her by, but Krosa doesn't want it. She doesn't need it. She'd lose or ruin it anyway. They nod silently, picking the sword up reverently before exiting. Krosa closes her eyes, refusing to cry. But the tears come anyway.

* * *

Krosa is grateful Farengar is not the hovering sort. He leaves her to her own devices, only coming to scold or talk to her when he deems it necessary. She is especially grateful that he doesn't allow visitors. Krosa didn't think that would have been a problem, but in the two days of recovery, she's heard him turn away several people. Even Irileth and the Jarl. Farengar warned her after the second attempt that the Jarl wishes to speak to her on an urgent matter. She doesn't leave the room. She has no energy left for urgent matters. Whatever else he wants her to do will have to wait. And maybe if she waits long enough, he'll give up and turn to someone else for aid.

Two more days pass and Farengar tells her she can use magic if she so chooses, but to keep it simple. She tries out a few spells, which leads to him giving her some pointers and even teaching her a brand new Alteration spell. He makes sure she understands it's for his own good and not for her. As soon as she proves she can go around without trouble, he gives her her stuff, and kicks her out saying he's tired of sharing his space.

It's early so Krosa's able to make it outside before anyone stops her. She has never been more grateful for fresh air, even if it is bitter and littered with snowflakes slowly making their way to the ground already covered in piles of snow. She hasn't attempted stairs yet, but makes it down without any hiccups. Though, she is more out of breath than she should be. She makes it to the first square before slipping on a patch of ice and crashing into the ground.

"Careful there, it's slippery," someone says from behind. Krosa looks to see the Jarl standing on the steps, a wry smile on his face. Krosa curses her luck and when she glares, he chuckles, "I'm sorry to do this to you, but I've been meaning to talk and it cannot wait. Walk with me to my office?"

"Can't we talk here?"

"I'm sure the frozen ground is as comfortable as it looks," he says with a smirk. "And what I want to speak to you about is a sensitive topic: best done in privacy. For your own good."

Krosa gets to her feet and scowls all the way back to Dragonsreach. The Jarl is smart enough to know not to attempt any further conversation. As they pass through Farengar's study, she catches the old man watching her with pity. They make it to the office without anyone approaching them, only watching with curious eyes. He closes the door and turns to her.

"I assume Farengar told you of the situation," he says, eyes gleaming. Krosa narrows her eyes.

"He said you needed to speak to me about something urgent, that's all."

The Jarl works his jaw. "Damn him. I swear he's getting bolder by the day." He shakes his head. "But that's irrelevant. Did you hear anything after your fight with the dragon?"

"No."

"So, you must have passed out by then."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Greybeards have summoned the Dragonborn." Krosa doesn't know what he's talking about. "Remember when we spoke of the prophecy?" Krosa nods. "The Dragonborn is part of that."

"What do the Greybeards have to do with it?" All Krosa knows is they're a group of monks who live at the top of a mountain. They never leave, they don't care about what's happening in the world, and sometimes they train someone in their ways if the person can make it to the top without dying.

"The Greybeards are the masters of the Way of the Voice— of Shouting." He scrutinizes her as he adds, "They live on top of the Throat of the World."

"So they're good at talking?" Krosa doesn't know why any of this is important, or even related to her. All she wants to do is go to the tavern to eat.

"In the old tales, the Nord heroes would use the power of their Voice to Shout down the gates of cities and strike down their enemies, but only the Greybeards study the Way of the Voice anymore."

"And what does this have to do with me?" She's never had a way with words, and she doubts studying a 'Way of the Voice' would do her any good. Though some people she knows seem to benefit from it.

"I believe _you_ are the Dragonborn… You don't know what that is either do you?" He sighs. "The Nord heroes of ancient times were Dragonborn. Wulfarth was Dragonborn. Talos, too—" Krosa makes a face. She's heard that name before, but where? He catches on,"—the founder of the Empire? By the Nine, woman, what _do_ you know?"

"Nothing, apparently."

He sighs, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Wait here a moment."

He goes to the bookshelf, while Krosa awkwardly stands there, trying to make sense of all this, but mostly wanting to leave. _Can I leave without him noticing it?_ She doubts it.

"You see, the Dragonborns would slay the dragons and steal their power," he says as he makes his way back to her, book in hand.

"What power?"

"The power of the Voice. Shouting. And I believe, after hearing the reports, that this is what you are. That _you_ were destined to defeat Alduin."

 _Alduin. The World-Eater. The one who has returned to take over the world and devour your souls. The master. The_ — _Wait._ Krosa blinks. _Where is this coming from?_

"I don't know what you're talking about," she says distractedly.

"The scouts told me they saw you absorb the dragon's power."

And now it's all starting to make sense. Somehow the pieces are falling into place. Not five minutes ago she felt nothing, but now there's something there. Something pulsing, pumping— like a heartbeat. Something that may be alive. And it started immediately after she put that sword through the throat of that dragon. _Mirmulnir._ A voice in her states, and Krosa shakes her head. She doesn't believe it. She's not going to believe it.

"No. They must have just seen its body burning."

"You were engulfed in it as well. Why did you not burn as it did?" he says, looking at her with a critical eye, as if he can barely believe that she isn't jumping on his claim. "If you truly are the Dragonborn, you must go to the Greybeards immediately."

"I'm not the Dragonborn. I'm not anyone."

"Everyone is someone, if you allow yourself to be," he mutters, as if it was a passing thought and not something profound. His focus is on flipping through the pages of the book he brought in. "Ah, here it is! The prophecy. Here's what it says—"

 _When misrule takes its place_ —

The fall of Helgen. Her nightmare. She remembers it. The beast was a dragon. No. She hears the whispers again, louder and more insistent than before, drowning out the Jarl's voice. She can see the words without looking at the page.

 _"When misrule takes its place_ — _"_

" _In you."_

" _Reshaped. Trembles. Falls."_

" _Sundered, kingless, and bleeding_ — _"_

" _It's you."_

" _And the wheels turn."_

" _On you. You. You. You."_

" _You are the_ — _"_

" _._.. Dragonborn _,"_ the Jarl finishes, his voice overcoming the others, but Krosa can't pay him any mind. They don't stop. They're shouting, giving her no room to ignore them. "Krosa." In an instant the words vanish, the voices grow quiet. "Are you— Wait. Where are you going?"

"No. You're wrong, and I— I need to leave." And that's what she does. He calls out after her, but stays where he is.

"You can't escape it, Krosa! You can run all you like, but one day it will catch up to you: only then more people would have suffered because of your—"

Krosa closes the door on his words, forgetting her exhaustion, her hunger. She just needs to move. To get away from it all or else she'll lose it; the fragile control she has on her panic. He's wrong. And she'll prove it. She'll go to Cyrodiil, she'll leave them to their dragons and they'll be just fine. After all anyone can kill a dragon… right? In the past others did, so why is now any different? _But what about the voices?_

"I'm just going crazy." She can deal with that; it's more likely than the bullshit the Jarl was spouting. And it's not like it's unexpected, considering everything that's happened. But there's something else. Something inside her that refuses to stay quiet. It laughs, feeding on her fear. Reveling in it. It wants her to run, but it wants to toy with her as well.

 _But what if you're wrong?_

 _Yay! Another one! I hope it wasn't too long of a wait (I know there's been a lot of those recently, and I apologize), I will try to update more ferquently noe that I'll be having more time. I hope you enjoy (and let me know that you enjoy it hehe)_


	25. In Denial of Destiny

Krosa doesn't stop walking. She doesn't notice the time passing by. All thoughts were banished from her mind— all but one _. I need to get out of this place._ It repeats in her head like a mantra, mixing with the unwelcome words, the grating voices reminding her of the prophecy. Of her supposed destiny.

Each step she takes hardens her resolve, her heartbeat quickening with each thought. She won't let herself be used again, becoming a tool for someone's greater purpose, for their own gain… _but what is to be gained from this?_ She shoves the thought away before it weakens her resolve. She can't let herself break.

 _"You can't escape it, Krosa! You can run all you like, but one day it will catch up to you—"_ Krosa stops, but the voices don't.

 _"You can't escape it."_

 _"You can't escape it."_

 _"You can't escape it."_

 _No_. Krosa refuses to believe it. She won't answer to anyone ever again. Not to man, not to Fate. Not to anything. There has to be an escape. There always is, and she's going to find it. The Alik'r would always talk about Fate— about its inevitability. Destiny doesn't rely upon one person, what's meant to happen will happen, and if one doesn't rise to the call, then another will take their place. There is always someone left to take their place. Everyone is expendable. Even their heroes.

But Krosa doesn't plan on being a hero. She never has. Never will. She wants nothing to do with that kind of life. Someone else can sell their soul for the duty. Someone else can play the hero if there even needs to be one, but it won't be her. She just wants to be free.

 _Ulfric._ It dawns on her suddenly, and she wonders why she didn't think of it sooner. Ulfric has the Voice. She can let _him_ be the hero everyone needs. He'd gladly take up that burden, would even see it as an honor. She hates him, but at least it means it doesn't have to be her. Maybe it was meant to be him all along. Maybe she just got in the way.

" _Fool."_

" _Coward."_

" _You can't escape."_

" _You'll die either way."_

"Krosa." She doesn't listen to the voice, somehow more clear than the rest. "Krosa, can you hear me?" the voice says again, more urgently than before. A hand falls onto her shoulder, shaking her from her trance. "Are you ok?" Krosa blinks at the man standing in front of her, recognizing him from somewhere, but the voice is distorted and her vision unfocused. "You're as pale as a ghost."

Krosa's mind finally catches up to the moment. _Sinding?_ That means she's already well into Falkreath Hold. How long has she been walking? She's sweating like a pig, her muscles are aching, she's stiff with cold, and her legs feel like they will collapse beneath her at any moment. _I wouldn't have been able to make it much farther._ His hand goes to her forehead, before pulling it back quickly. Sinding says something, but she only catches the end of it.

"—burning up, and what are you doing out here without a proper cloak?" He places his cloak around her shoulders, and she's swamped with its warmth. It doesn't help with her shivering. _I'm shivering?_ What else hasn't she noticed?"Did something happen? Krosa?" He gives her shoulders a firm shake. "Are you going to say anything?"

Krosa shakes her head. She doesn't trust her voice. She doesn't trust that she won't pour it all out, say it out loud, because then she'll have to accept it. It will be plain before her, as well as him. And she just wants to forget. For the first time, she just wants to forget all that happened. Start anew. But then how would she know who to trust?

 _"You already don't know who to trust. Pathetic. You're pathetic… You can't even trust yourself."_

"Well, I'll be. Finally decided you missed us, then?"

Krosa blinks. When did they make it to the cave? _When did we even start walking?_

"Oh, don't tell me you're not here to pay us a visit!" Barbas continues, nudging her hand with his nose.

"I—" is all she can choke out. Her throat is raw. Since when? When did the world seem to turn upside down and nothing makes any sense?

"He's teasing. He does that all the time now," he says to her, throwing Barbas a pointed look.

"Oh are you— is she sick?"

"Seems like it. Possibly a fever or the chills. She was wander—"

"You pea-sized ball sack with no brain. Don't keep her here, you lout! Take her to the Fair-Helms! They'll be of more help, not to mention they'll have a warmer place. She'll catch her death here."

"It's late."

"Do you think that will matter to them when she's in need of help?"

"I doubt she'll make it there before passing out."

"Like she'd let herself fall into your arms." Krosa would have laughed at that if she could. "Come on, we have no time to waste!"

Krosa doesn't know who in the world they could be talking about, but the three of them leave the cave. She's aware of their proximity, of the hand on her shoulder guiding her along and keeping her steady, the glances Barbas sends her way. Krosa closes her eyes, too light-headed to hold them open while walking at the same time. Sinding and Barbas' arguing never ceases, but she's tuned them out a long time ago. She notices the voices before the figures, her dark world becoming light enough to burn through her eyelids, only making her shut them tighter.

"What's wrong with her?" a young, familiar voice asks.

"Quiet Hilda. Go to your room." Krosa knows that name. Where does she know it from? Oh. Wait. She remembers them. The bandits. Their gratitude. Hilda, the doll.

"But—" Whatever was going to be said next is drowned out as everything twists and turns, distorting and warping.

Tilting.

Tilting.

Tilting.

Krosa tries to steady herself, but her legs collapse. Her knees hit the floor but before the rest of her can follow, arms catch her. She hears raised voices as the world fades away.

 _What_ is _wrong with me?_

* * *

"Ralof! It's about time you've returned, my friend," Ulfric exclaims, clapping the man on the shoulder. "We were beginning to think we would never see you again."

"I'm glad you made it out as well, Jarl Ulfric. What of your friend?"

Ulfric can feel his mood darken at the mention of Krosa. The memory of their last encounter has been a recurring annoyance in his mind. He doesn't know what he saw in her. He doesn't even believe she really went to Whiterun. She probably just agreed to get them to stop bugging her. _They'll find out soon enough._ To Ralof, he says:

"She plans to leave Skyrim, the coward. I tried to convince her to stay and help, but she remains unreasonable."

"Leaving Skyrim seems pretty reasonable to me," Ralof states but, at Ulfric's look, quickly adds, "In her case, I mean. Why would she stay?"

Because it's the noble thing to do, honorable. Ulfric thought she would have cared about the welfare of others after her adventure with the Butcher with no thought of getting a reward, only of benefitting the people. Because she refused to abandon an Imperial soldier she didn't know even in the face of death. Because she can keep up with him in battle. Because, because, because— there were plenty of reasons, all of which mean little to him now.

"Enough about her," Ulfric says. "What took you so long to resurface? Gerdur has been worried sick."

"Yes, well, there were complications with Hadvar."

"And what sort of complications would those be?"

"He was dying no matter what I did. I was thinking about putting him out of his misery when I saw a group of Imperial soldiers." His hand goes to rub the back of his neck as he works his mouth, but no words come out. Ulfric waits a moment before losing his patience.

"Go on."

The man looks at him sheepishly and listens to his command. "I— um— I didn't see any other choice. You told me to honor the deal, so I— I handed him over to them."

Ulfric's eyebrows shoot up. He certainly would not have even considered that.

"They kept me prisoner. I didn't know till then that General Tullius was with them, as was the Thalmor bitch."

So. They weren't the only ones to escape. _That's unfortunate._ He especially hoped Elenwen would have died. But it seems she has found a way to survive yet again. _The roach._ And knowing her, Ralof would have suffered a great deal in her hands. The man looks distressed enough.

"What did they do to you?"

"Interrogated me. Elenwen wanted me dead, but Tullius wouldn't let her have me. He wanted me to give you a message. He said this war will have to come to an end if we are to get through these times… He wants to form a treaty."

Ulfric scoffs. "Of course he would. That's what they're good at, or so they think. Their treaty with the Thalmor is what started all this!" Ulfric paces, considering all his options. "No. There will be no damned treaty. If they're so scared, let them fall back to Cyrodiil and leave Skyrim to us."

"Do you think it's true? The legend of the Dragonborn?" Ralof asks hesitantly, and Ulfric can see the hidden anxiety. Maybe that's the true cause of his distress. These are uncertain times, but the only certainty to the public is that dragons are here. Whether or not the legend is true is still up in the air. And if it isn't true, then what does that mean for Skyrim and Tamriel?

"I do," Ulfric says, leaving no room for doubt. The Greybeards taught him as much. Not to mention the summons that all of Skyrim could hear, though most wouldn't know the translation. Someone in Skyrim is the Dragonborn— the Dovahkiin. He wonders whether the Dragonborn even knows what they are or not. But one thing remains certain. He wants whoever it is. Together they could take back Skyrim. With them on his side, failure is not possible.

Ulfric can see the relief settling into the man's shoulders. It's amazing how two words of certainty are able to cause such an effect, how one glimmer of hope can tame the deepest of fears in men's hearts.

"Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know. But one thing's for certain. We need to get to them before anyone else."

"You think they'd join our cause?"

"If they're a true Nord, then there's no doubt."

* * *

Krosa wakes up slowly, remembering everything in an instant, frustrated by her clear lack of common sense. She could have been past the border if she had taken the time to prepare for travel, though in her defense she had more pressing matters on her mind. But in any case, she's also growing tired of passing out and waking up in strange places. It's been happening a lot more often than she'd like.

"She seems to be doing better."

"If by better you mean not dying. But even that's up in the air, I suppose."

"What do you think it was?"

Krosa opens her eyes to see Sinding, Barbas, and Hilda's father sitting next to the bed she's in. _What was his name again?_ She knows he had introduced himself when they met, but she hadn't cared to listen. She thought she would be leaving Skyrim and it wouldn't matter.

"I don't know. Some kind of fever I suppose. I've never seen anything—" Hilda's father looks to her, eyes widening when he sees she's awake. He quickly gets up to hand her a tall cup of water. "How are you feeling?" She barely takes a sip, the water only irritating the itch in her throat. She gives the cup back to him.

"What happened?" she gets out, her voice a pained whisper.

"That's what we're trying to figure out," he says, sitting back down after placing the cup on the table beside her. Krosa closes her eyes and takes a breath as he continues, "Is there anything you may have come across, something unusual, that could have caused your—" A sense of urgency overtakes her as she realizes the only new thing there is.

"Dragons," she says before she can think better of it. It's likely they wouldn't know. Word might not have spread here yet, and as much as she wants to leave it all behind, she can't let them be taken by surprise. She owes them that much. "Attacked." It's all she can get out. She hopes they don't think it's nonsense.

"So it's true then? There really are dragons about." Krosa nods, wondering whether the string of phrases he mutters under his breath is meant to be a curse or a prayer. "And you saw one?"

"If I know her at all, I'd say she fought one," Barbas claims, and Krosa wonders how well he really does know her.

"Hmph. She'd probably take one look at it and walk away. She hates getting involved," Sinding says in return, voice lowered in what Krosa assumes was an attempt to keep her from hearing.

"Then why does she always get—"

"Both of you get out," Hilda's father says. "And when you see Ida, tell her Krosa's awake." When they leave, he turns to Krosa with a wry smile. "I don't know how you lived in a cave with those two."

"Neither do I," she says, wincing at the attempt to speak. Apparently they've all gotten to know each other while she was away, and wonders if that means Sinding has been successful at keeping his beast under control.

"I have a few questions for you," he says, his tone of voice turning serious. "You don't have to speak to answer, a nod or shake of the head will do." Krosa doesn't think she's going to like where this is going but nods in agreement, curiosity winning her over. "The scars on your back, and the mark on the inside of your wrist…" Krosa tenses, looking down to her wrist to see that nothing is covering it. She turns it to see the scar that was usually kept hidden under her leather wristband. She had tried to burn it off, but it's still apparent on the raised and ragged skin. "You were a slave, weren't you?"

Krosa hates that word, and it's not completely true anyway, but close enough to it. She has no voice to explain it. Krosa nods her head slowly. He stares at her for a long moment before speaking.

"I served in the Great War, you know. I was stationed in Hammerfell for a while. I saw what the Alik'r did to their prisoners when they decided to use the Thalmor as slaves. I have to ask, are you— were you associated with the Thalmor in any way?"

"No," Krosa says, eyes flying open, then immediately closing again at the burning in her throat. Of all the things to not have in this moment, it has to be her voice. She can only hope he believes her. She doesn't know what she'd do if he thinks she's working with them. She knows what _he'd_ likely do.

"But the Alik'r did do this to you?" Krosa nods again. "Why—"

The door opens then, and in comes Ida with a tray of food. The smell of it curdles Krosa's stomach.

"Oh, maybe food isn't a good idea then," the woman says. "I've never seen someone turn so green." She walks right back out. Krosa and Hilda's father barely have time to exchange a glance before she returns.

"Here, the tea may help."

Krosa takes the cup, eyeing the dark liquid. _What in Oblivion is tea?_

"It's an herbal drink," the father says, noticing her confusion. "It's not popular in Skyrim. A Nord's answer to everything is beer and ale." Krosa takes a sip. It's not as bad as she expected, the warmth soothes her throat, and she can taste a hint of honey.

"Where does it come from?" She may have to get some of this for herself.

"Well, the ingredients mostly came from here, and we made it, but the idea came from High Rock, if that's what you're asking." So she'd have to make it herself. She frowns. _That's not going to happen._ She can't cook to save her life.

"Can I come in now?" a voice asks from the doorway. They all turn to see Hilda there, clutching two of her dolls, one with red hair, strips of leather for armor, a makeshift sword and shield, and a smaller one with short brown hair and a raggedy dress. Her parents look to Krosa. Krosa nods.

"Yes, Hilda, you can come in," her mother says, and Hilda runs into the room with a squeal. When she's close enough, Krosa realizes she's going to launch herself onto the bed, but her father catches her mid-air and sits her on his lap instead.

"Hey!"

"Hilda, please refrain from jumping on our guest. She's not feeling well." Hilda pouts, but nods. Her father lets her go. She shoves one of the dolls into Krosa's face.

"Look! It's you!"

It doesn't take long for Hilda's parents to leave Krosa to her fate. They have a farm to tend to, so Krosa is coerced into playing dolls with Hilda— which had apparently been the girl's dream since her look-alike was made. The girl reasons that Krosa has nothing better to do, and Krosa was loath to admit she had a point. Hilda squealed as she ran back to her room to grab every doll she owns.

"You remember all their names, right?"

"No."

"What's wrong with your voice?"

"I'm sick."

"Oh yeah. Do you still have Astrid?"

"Who?"

"The doll I gave you."

"Oh. Not currently, but she's somewhere safe," Krosa lies. Hilda shrugs.

"Ok. Now who do you want to play with? But you can't choose yourself! I want to play with her."

"I'll choose yours then."

Hilda looks at her pile of dolls helplessly. "They're all mine."

"I mean the one that looks like you." The girl looks at Krosa like she's the best thing she's laid eyes on as she hands her the doll reverently. Krosa thinks she just fulfilled another one of the girl's long-held wishes. That joy dwindles a bit after they start. Playing with dolls, it seems, is harder than Krosa thought. According to Hilda, Krosa never does anything right.

"Ok. Now pretend she faints." Krosa lays the doll down. Hilda sighs.

"Not like that. You have to do it more dramatically."

"How do I do that?"

"Bring her hand to her head and as she falls, sigh like this," Hilda says, demonstrating with the most ridiculous sigh Krosa's ever heard. Nothing in the world could persuade her to make a sound like that. Luckily the door opens just then. They both turn to it, and Krosa is no longer relieved.

"Oh?" Barbas says, "What's this?"

"We're playing with my dolls!"

"I can see that." He turns to Krosa, a mischievous glint in his eyes, tail wagging, and Krosa knows full well how red her face must be. "Oh the _indignity_."

"Says the one who—"

"Uh uh uh. Nothing you say now will have any effect, I promise you." He turns to leave, "Sinding is _so_ going to enjoy this."

"Oh, oh, oh! Tell him he can play too!" Krosa wishes more than anything that he does not do that.

"Oh I will, Hilda, don't you worry!"

"Yay!" She jumps out of bed to give him a good scratch on the head. The damned dog enjoys it far too much, giving Krosa a wink before he trots triumphantly out the door. She'll kill him if he or Sinding ever brings this up again.

"Ok," Hilda says, getting back to business. "I faint, you take out the bandits. Then I wake up, and then when you say, 'Are you ok?' I say, 'Thank you! You're my hero!' Got it?"

Krosa's heart skips a beat. "You never said that."

"I know, which is why we're pretending."

"Hilda, I'm not a hero."

"Are too!"

"Am not."

"Are too!"

A staring contest ensues. The girl even has tears in her eyes, and Krosa suddenly sees what she must have seen that day. What she must have felt. Of course she'd see Krosa as a hero, she doesn't know any better. And Krosa would rather her focus on that than the trauma of the whole ordeal. Krosa has never admitted defeat sooner.

"Alright."

" _Some hero you are. Imagine her disappointment when she learns how much of a coward you truly are. Alduin will have no trouble defeating you, and oh how she'll suffer under his—"_

"Krosa? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I— It's nothing."

"You look scared."

"I'm not scared. Why would I be scared?"

Hilda looks at her suspiciously, and opens her mouth to reply.

There's a knock at the front door, loud enough for them to hear it from across the house. Krosa's heart races. The knocking is urgent, which is rarely a good sign. Someone opens the door and Krosa can hear the man shouting. Hilda hops off the bed to peek outside the room.

"There— There was a dragon!" Krosa feels her stomach tighten. Hilda gasps, throwing Krosa an amazed look before leaning out again to listen. "They've taken down a dragon!"

"What? Where?"

"Just outside of town. Ohh, it's massive! The Jarl is holding a celebration tomorrow, starting at noon! You should all come see it! There will be feasting, dancing, and games—" the man goes on and on. Krosa doesn't listen to the rest of it. Her mind is whirling with possibilities. Then the door closes, and Krosa's thoughts are interrupted before they can truly begin.

"Can you believe it? An actual dragon, and so close to home!" Hilda exclaims, running back into the room and jumping on the bed.

"And they've killed it," Krosa says, barely believing it. Jarl Balgruuf was wrong. The prophecy must be nothing but a story, and Krosa's just sick. The voices, the hallucinations— all symptoms of whatever it is that's infected her. It just took a while for her to be affected by it fully. _It's probably from the spider venom._ Gerdur must not have been able to get it all out. She lets out a small huff of laughter, relief settling into her shoulders.

* * *

The next day they all set out for the town. Despite her current ailments, Krosa insisted on coming. She needs to see the dead dragon for herself. It's snowing, the snowflakes big and fluffy. Hilda skips along, tongue sticking out and giggling whenever one lands on her tongue. Her parents hold hands, smiling as they watch their daughter. Krosa is lagging behind, her strength not up to par. Sinding and Barbas hang back with her, for once silent for a time.

"You seem to be in a good mood."

Krosa only smiles.

"Is that a smile?"

"No," Krosa says, cringing. Her throat seemed to only grow worse over night, but Krosa's decided to ignore it the best she can. She can endure the pain if it means freedom to speak.

"Are you sure? You know, it's not a weakness. You can admit it and face no judgement from us."

Krosa lets her glare answer for her, though she knows it's not entirely convincing.

"It seems you've lost your sense of humor. Maybe the sickness robbed you of it."

Or maybe it is convincing. Brynjolf would have been able to—

"She never had one in the first place," Barbas claims, saving her from wherever that thought would have taken her. She didn't realize how often she thought about him before.

"I've laughed before." She says, determined to take her mind off of him yet agaon. "You guys just aren't as funny as you think you are."

"Well then, it's a poor sense of humor," Barbas says, then scoffs, "'I've laughed before,' she says. When? Once when you were a child?"

"At least twice." Sinding and Barbas both laugh at that.

It doesn't take much longer for them to reach the town. By the time they get there, Krosa can feel exhaustion pulling at her, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She needs to see the dead dragon.

It seems like anyone who could have come decided to see the dragon for themselves. The narrow streets are crowded with families and friends and their lively chatter. They make their way through the crowd, Hilda grabbing her hand so she doesn't get lost. Krosa lets her, ignoring Barbas and Sinding's exchange of looks. They pass burned buildings and several pits in the road from their battle.

Then there's the dragon, lying just outside the reach of the city. It's massive form is mangled. Chunks of it are missing, as are all of its scales. Two men are sawing through one of its horns. Such a terrible beast, now a heap of meat and scrap, ripe for the picking. Krosa doesn't know why her heart falls at the sight. It's not like it's the first dragon she's seen. It's not even the second. She thought she would feel relieved. She thought seeing it would only confirm her beliefs, but there is something wrong with the image. Krosa doesn't know what. Whatever she's feeling is unnatural. It's not awe, but it also can't be fear or— or… sympathy?

But it is. She can't believe it, but the sight brings her no joy. She actually feels sorry for the creature, for what they're doing to its body. Krosa doesn't fully agree with Farengar, but part of her thinks that they should show some more respect to it. She doesn't know where it comes from or why she feels that way. All she knows is her eyelids getting heavier and her thoughts slower. There's no energy left to do anything other than standing and staying awake.

"You're not as fascinated as most people are when they see it. A downed dragon is a rarer sight than—"

"I'm just tired, that's all."

"Well then, we should get you to bed before you pass out on us again," Sinding says, playfully nudging her shoulder.

"The celebration will last well into the night. You can get a bed at the inn to rest for a bit if you want," Hilda's father says, handing her enough coins to pay for it. Krosa thanks him, then heads for the Inn.

She doesn't fall asleep right away, there's a sinking feeling in her gut. _Something isn't right._ But she does her best to ignore it and her exhaustion soon takes over. She drifts into a restless sleep.

 _The dragon bares down on her, barreling past anyone in the way, intent on her death. But before it reaches her, someone manages to pull Krosa out of the way. They both fall to the ground, quickly taking cover behind and under a large boulder overhang to give them a few more seconds. The dragon roars, and the world shakes as he lets out a fiery blast._

 _"Looks like you've made a friend" the girl quips. When the fiery barrage ends, she throws her spare sword to Krosa as she gets to her feet. "Too bad we'll have to kill it." At Krosa's scowl, the girl cackles._

 _Then she dies._

 _Krosa barely has time to blink as the dragon snaps her up in its massive jaws and tosses her out of the way. Krosa has only a moment to act before the beast turns on her. When the dragon comes down again, she moves to impale it through its neck with the sword. But there is no sword. She only looks down at her hands, finding them shackled. She can't escape it. She can't fight it. She can only accept her fate._

 _The beast swallows her whole._


	26. A Skeleton of Something More

_Bones._

Krosa's eyes snap open at the realization. When she killed the dragon in Whiterun, all that was left of it was bones. It burned from the inside out when Krosa absorbed its soul— which only means one thing. That dragon lying down there with dozens of people gawking and hacking at it is not dead. She can feel its energy, its life regathering. _Why couldn't I feel it before?_

 _But you did and you chose to ignore it._

There's a scream.

Krosa jumps out of bed and runs down the stairs as more people join in on the screaming. There's shouting and crying. Her heart hammers in her chest. _Not again._ She can't see another city burn. Hilda and her family. Sinding and Barbas. She doubts they would have left her there, but she hopes against all hope that is what they did. If they die she will never forgive herself.

The Inn is empty downstairs, the people have likely fled already. _That's good._ She only hopes they were able to escape with their lives. She can hear the sound of battle as she turns to the door. Krosa prepares herself as she throws it open, ready to see the world burning. Ready to—

People are dancing. Chatting and laughing. Eating and drinking. _What?_ Krosa steps aside, looking to the downed dragon. They have successfully sawed off the horns, and are now working on the meat, leaving trails of blood in their wake. It's a more gruesome sight now than before, and Krosa has to look away as her stomach heaves. It's almost as if she can feel its pain. She _can_ feel it, or something at least. Something that is there but didn't used to be.

There's a shout, a hand on her shoulder. Krosa turns and stares into the melted eyes of a burned corpse, it's face still contorted into a scream. She flinches as she backs quickly away, bumping into something. She turns to look, and a person is standing there, burned from head to toe, patches of flesh and muscle hanging loose as it reaches out for her, begging her to help it. She has to fight against the scream that threatens to tear through her throat as she backs away. She trips and falls— blinks and then it's gone. Instead, there's a man, eyes intact and flesh not burned or rotting looking annoyed. _What is going on?_

"Sorry, sir, she's not feeling well," someone says from behind. He nods to the voice, then walks away with one last disapproving look over his shoulder.

Hands pull her up, and she shakes them off furiously, stepping away and turning to look at the culprit. She expects to see the wild eyes of a soldier, but it's only Hilda's father.

"Krosa, wherever you think you are, you're not there, alright? Whatever is happening is only in your mind." She stands there, panting, not fully comprehending his words. He grasps her arms when she doesn't answer. "Breathe."

Krosa does, doing her best to calm the panic in her lungs. To ignore the sharp pain in her throat. The wild beating of her heart. "The dragon—"

"Is dead.

"No, it's not." The look he gives her is pitiful."You don't understand it— I— I have to kill it."

"The guards already did. Krosa, you're shaking. And probably hallucinating."

 _Hallucinating?_ She could be— no. She knows that she's right. Krosa doesn't know what just happened, but she knows what she feels is true. She won't let herself deny it again. She can feel it in her bones. Her soul. Wait. _The dragon's soul. That's what I'm feeling._ How did it take her so long to fully realize it? Balgruuf was right and she's an idiot. A fool, a coward, a—

"We probably shouldn't have taken you with us." Before Krosa can say anything, the rest of the crew joins him.

"Is everything alright?" Sinding asks, looking at Krosa with concern. She can't bring herself to meet his gaze. She looks to Ida instead.

"That dragon's not dead. I have to—"

"What!?" Ida exclaims, pulling Hilda closer and looking towards the dragon. The dragon's still laying there, its body mangled and bloody. Fear turns to confusion and then suspicion as she looks back to Krosa.

"It is, Krosa," Hilda's father says to her. To the others, he says, "It seems her sickness is getting worse. She doesn't seem to be in her right mind."

"Yes, I am. Please, listen to me—"

Ida marches over to her, placing her hand on Krosa's forehead. "She _is_ burning up again."

Krosa huffs in frustration as they continue to ignore her. They will never believe her like this.

"What should we do?" Ida says, echoing Krosa's thoughts. "Take her back home?"

"No. I think it's better to stay. There should be a healer somewhere who could help." They lead her back into the empty Inn and sit her down. Ida and Hilda leave to find someone to help. She doesn't have the strength to fight it.

 _And you think you have the strength to slay Alduin? Ha! Your foolishness knows no bounds._

"I don't need to rest. I'm not sick, I need to kill it. It's coming back to life." Krosa says, trying to drown out the voice. _Mirmulnir. It has to be._ Krosa doesn't know where else it would be coming from. Even her own inner voices don't hate her as much as this.

"First it's not dead, and now it is but is somehow coming back to life?" Sinding says with a smirk. Krosa shoots him a withering glare. His smirk wavers, but he still maintains eye contact. Krosa's the first to look away.

"To be fair, it came back to life once before," Barbas states.

Hilda's father pauses at that, looking to Krosa curiously. "You're right. It—"

"But then they killed it again. Cycle complete."

"That's absurd—"

"Both of you get out," Hilda's father says, and they look like they're about to argue for only a moment before obeying. They trudge silently out the door, looking back several times as if expecting him to change his mind. He doesn't. When they're finally gone, he turns back to Krosa.

"Does their arguing ever end?"

"No."

"I swear they're worse than children." Krosa only smirks at that. "You don't know my name, do you?" He says out of nowhere. Krosa freezes. She was hoping it'd come up in conversation but there was never a reason for it to. He chuckles. "I thought so. Sinding and Barbas made a bet on whether or not you knew it or if you'd ask if you didn't. They were going to interrogate you once you rejoined us, but it seems like they won't be getting the chance to." He leans back into his chair, crossing his arms.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to feel sorry. It's more funny than anything." He looks at her, as if waiting for her to say something. When she doesn't, he smiles wryly and says, "My name is Peter, by the way." Krosa tries not to cringe. She wonders who won the bet.

"I'll remember it this time," is all she says. He only chuckles, and Krosa's left to her thoughts. Her fear, panic, worry— whatever works best to describe it. The only times she felt it this strongly were with her past— worrying about the Alik'r and if they'll come for her or find her. Staying would make their confrontation inevitable, but that isn't what's important. In fact, they're more distant from her worries than ever.

"What happened back there?"

"I don't know how to explain it. I— There— I'm—"

"Relax, Krosa. You're overthinking it. Just say what's most important."

"I was at Helgen when it was attacked by the dragon. I— When—" Krosa takes a deep breath as flashes of that day swirl through her head as well as the fresh memory of the chaos. She doesn't want to talk about it. Just thinking about it sets her nerves on fire. "I'm the Dragonborn," she blurts out, freezing as the words escape her lips.

"What's a Dragonborn?"

Krosa sighs. Of course he wouldn't know about it. It seems to be something only the elite Nords know about.

"I didn't know about it at first either. Then when I found out I— I didn't want to believe it. I don't know a lot about it, but— Have you... heard of Alduin?" He nods. "What about the voice power?"

"Do you mean the Voice? Like what Ulfric has?"

"Yes."

"Is he a Dragonborn too?"

"I—" Krosa pauses. _Can there be more than one?_ She certainly thought so the day before. But the truth is, she doesn't know anything at all. "I'm not sure," she admits, "but that's not important… Jarl Balgruuf told me that a Dragonborn is the only one who can kill dragons and defeat Alduin."

"And you weren't here when the guards—" Understanding dawns on him, and Krosa can tell he's worrying about Hilda and Ida as he imagines the destruction that will occur if Krosa's right. "But it's been torn up and mangled. There's barely anything left of it. Surely after all that it couldn't—"

"If it's like any of the other dragons I've seen, it can. Peter, I can _feel_ it. It's waking up."

"What if you slit its throat or something before it wakes?" Krosa takes a moment to study him as she feels relief settle into her shoulders.

"You believe me?" she asks, knowing she wouldn't have if she were in his shoes.

"To be honest, part of me still thinks it's bullshit, but you don't seem like the type for fantasies. And I've learned it's always better to be safe than sorry." He stands up, beckoning for her to follow. "Come on, you have a dragon to—"

There's a scream followed by a deafening, agonizing roar. Krosa looks to him frantically.

"I heard it too," he says with fear in his eyes. They waste no time and head for the door, but the door bursts open before they can reach it and in comes Sinding and Barbas.

"Now Krosa, there's no need to say I told you so, but—"

Krosa barrels past them, surveying the scene. People are now running away and screaming, a few buildings are on fire. The dragon is writhing and lashing out. A few guards are fighting it, but what should be an easy battle is turning out to be impossible. The dragon's glowing, and Krosa thinks she sees its horns starting to grow back; the guards struggling to land a hit. She spares the others a look as she starts her way towards it.

"I told you so," she says. She can't help it, really.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Sinding calls out, about to follow, but there is no time to answer. Krosa feels the heat before it hits.

"Get behind me!" she yells as she throws a ward up just in time.

The flames never touch her, but the heat alone is scorching. Her arms shake from the power of the blast and she feels the ward waver. Just when she thinks it'll overtake her, it ends. She looks back to the others. _They're alright._ The guards fighting it weren't as lucky. "Find Hilda and Ida and get to safety. I'm going to kill it." Peter doesn't need to be told twice, but Sinding and Barbas stay where they are. "You two should go with them."

"You can't fight it alone!" Sinding says, coming up to her and leaving a few inches between them. "Let me help." Krosa doesn't know why, but she smiles. Of all the times to have people who care, it's this one.

"They matter more. Help them first." They give her a disapproving look, but she doesn't waste anymore time on them. They'll either listen or they won't, but Krosa needs to get to the dragon.

She rushes to the dragon's form, moving to unsheathe her sword. But she doesn't have a sword. She's never not had a sword. A pang of fear twists in her gut when she remembers her dream, lost in the moment of panic.

The dragon doesn't waste its chance. _Shit._ Krosa ducks and rolls out of the way of its bout of fire, cursing herself for her idiocy. She strikes it with lightning before it can attack her again. Its cry pierces the night.

The glow surrounding the dragon flickers and Krosa hits it with another bolt before it can recover. She's better prepared for the sound this time, but still it's unbearable.

She spots a sword lying next to a fallen guard, and she runs for it. The screeching ends but, a moment later, there's a booming sound and Krosa's being thrown back by an invisible force. She crashes through a wall and hits the floor with a resounding crack of her ribs.

Krosa cries out, seeing stars. She's broken many bones in her life— none of them her own. This is a new pain, one she doesn't know how to handle. She gasps when she tries to move and is met with a spasm of pain.

Krosa looks out of the hole in the wall. The dragon's trying to get up in the air but can't. It spouts fire everywhere in its frustration, crying out in agony. She understands his pain, if her broken ribs are anything to go by. But, then again, she's never had her skin sawed off or bones hacked at. She doesn't ever want to find out what that feels like.

She takes a deep breath to calm herself but inhales smoke and dust instead. Her coughing fit nearly renders her unconscious. Red flickering lights dance through her eyelids. She opens her eyes to the fire engulfing the walls around her. Soon, the fire is all she can see.

* * *

Sinding rushes into the building, praying to all the gods that he can think of, not caring whether they're Aedra or Daedra— or even Hircine himself. Any sort of help would be welcome to him now. Anything to ensure that Krosa will be alright. He doesn't know how anyone could have survived something like that, but he's also never met anyone like Krosa. If anyone could survive, it'd be her.

He calls out her name, listening intently for any sort of answer. Thick smoke plagues the air, making it hard to see and smell, but thankfully he still has his heightened sense of hearing. For once in his life, he's grateful for the beast blood that flows through him.

* * *

 _The first time he saw her, he was in prison— and he had just murdered a little girl. He had lost control and tore her limb from limb. Every minute in that cell, that cold and dark cell, was filled with despair and shame. He never thought he'd get to see the light of day. Then she came._

 _The second time he saw her, she was there to kill him. Sent by Hircine to retrieve what he had stolen. She waltzed into his cave. His refuge. Others were there as well— but she was the only one who came alone. He thought she was foolish. Especially when she let him live— though he was grateful beyond belief._

 _But then he saw her fight the other hunters and they tore through them together. He was savage and she was ruthless. Maybe, he thought, maybe this one won't be one of his victims._

" _I'm surprised you were able to keep up," he says once the battle has ended._

" _I'm surprised you haven't started eating them yet."_

" _Oh believe me, there'll be time for that later." Her face scrunches up in disgust as she turns away from him._

" _Enjoy your dinner," is all she says before she starts to walk away. He doesn't know why, but he smiles._

" _Are you sure you don't want any?" She doesn't answer, and eventually he can't even smell her. The large cave no longer seems as large as when he first came in here, and darkness soon starts to close in._

 _He broke his promise and followed her, but he couldn't help it. He was captivated by her, and his curiosity overwhelmed his logical side. It used to be whenever he could catch a whiff of her scent, but soon he'd find himself searching for her whenever he left to hunt. She was always alone and always on the move._

 _One day she came to the cave, wounded and seeking refuge from a storm. He let her stay, but she refused any other help. It's not like he could do much, anyway. He maimed and killed— he wasn't able to heal._

" _What were you doing out there?"_

" _Same thing I always do."_

 _He assumes she means helping others and saving the day. They didn't talk much after that, and he was sad to see her go. But then she came back and kept coming back. Some days it was with supplies; he wouldn't even see her, but her scent would linger._

 _The first time, he asked her why she was doing this. She only said that if it'll keep him from eating any people, it's worth the expense. He couldn't argue with that._

 _Other times were when she needed a place to stay. She would often come covered in blood— most of it not her own. He grew accustomed to her scent, but so did his beast. It hungered for a taste, and there were times where he nearly lost control. He often had to leave the cave to hunt before he could do anything he'd regret._

 _Despite the struggle, he always liked when she'd visit. He was always so lonely. She was the only other living being he was able to talk to, even if it wasn't much at first. They slowly started to warm up to each other; then Barbas came and life no longer seemed so dismal.  
_

* * *

After all that time waiting for her to return, he can't lose her now. Not when he just got her back. Even if she survived the impact, the blast of fire surely would have— He hears a groan, and he sees her lying on the ground, struggling to get up. The flames haven't reached her yet, but they're about to.

"Krosa!" He runs over to her, happier than he's ever been.

"Sinding?" He moves to help her, an arm encircling her waist, but she cries out and shoves him away. "My ribs—"

"Anything else?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you're going to have to live with the pain, cause we need to get moving."

Krosa grimaces but nods.

He helps her up as gently as he can. They stumble through the smoke, Sinding using the smoke billowing out of the hole in the wall to help guide them out. He tries to get her out slowly, but they trip and fall through it instead. He barely believes it, but he's pretty sure he heard a soft whimper. However, he is _certain_ of the agitation he can smell coming off her in waves. "You know, I never took you as the whining type."

"You're not funny."

"And you're crazy. Who forgets to bring a weapon to battle?"

"There's no time for this," Krosa says, slowly getting to her feet. Sinding thinks he sees her favoring a leg and can smell her blood, though he doesn't know where it's coming from.

"You can't fight like this."

"I can always fight."

"It doesn't mean you should."

Before she can reply, the smoke around them starts to clear. The dragon catches sight of them and lunges. Krosa shoves him to the side as she jumps out of the way.

Sinding recovers quickly and readies himself for its attack, but the dragon goes after her instead. An ice spike shoots from her hand and lands into its shoulder. The dragon cries out, growing relentless as it battles Krosa, who is struggling to keep up.

Sinding looks around for anything that could help and spots the burned remains of one of the guards. He runs to it, turning it over to find an axe clutched in his hand. Sinding pries it out and runs to the dragon, slashing at it savagely from behind. He feels the blood of his beast boiling as it decides it wants in on this fight as well, but he shuts it down just as savagely. He can't let it loose, not while Krosa's around.

The dragon's tail comes out of nowhere, ramming into his side and he's sent flying. He crashes to the ground, all air escaping from his lungs in one fell swoop. Before he can even think about trying to get up, the dragon pounces on him, its massive claws pinning him down and puncturing his chest as it roars into his face. Sinding tries to cover his ears as he closes his eyes, bracing himself for the end that is sure to come. For a brief, flashing moment, he thinks of Krosa.

* * *

 _"No. I'm not going. I don't want to hurt anyone." Sinding doesn't even know why she's suggesting the idea. He's always been adamant on this._

 _"I'll be there, so there's nothing to—"_

 _He shakes his head, looking her in the eye, pleading for her to understand. "I don't want to hurt_ you _."_

 _She scoffs. "Believe me, you won't get the chance to."_

 _But he nearly did, once._

 _He wasn't following her this time, but while he was hunting, he caught onto her scent, as well as others. She was attacked on the road, and he swooped in to help though she probably wouldn't have needed it. Once they were all dead, he couldn't reign the bloodlust in and he would have killed her too. She expertly evaded his attacks, and got in some hits of her own._

 _He managed to land a hit once, and immediately smelled the blood. Somehow he found control. The beast in him surrendered without much of a fight. Since then he made her promise to kill him if it came down to it, but it never did after that._

 _He lets her lead the way._

* * *

Sinding hears someone shout, but it sounds so far away. His ears ring, his head pounds— heart racing. Something drips onto his face, something warm and thick. The weight on his chest lifts. A blinding light burns through his eyelids, and he can feel a burst of wind swirling fiercely around him.

Someone cries out— _Krosa_ cries out, and finally he opens his eyes. A pile of bones lay where the dragon once was. He turns to see Krosa on her knees, trembling and pale— her face contorted in pain as she struggles to breathe.

He tries to move, tries to go to her, but is met with pain. It is then that he sees the damage, the blood seeping out from his chest. _I'm going to die._

"Krosa—" he gets out, his chest feeling like it's going to cave in.

Suddenly she's over him, saying his name, hands on his chest. Even though the worry on it is far from pleasant, if Krosa's face is the last thing he sees, he wouldn't mind dying so much. It's better than a dragon's, and it means that she cares. He feels an unbearable itch in his chest and realizes what she's doing. He doesn't have to look down to see that her hand is glowing faintly. It's not steady like he's seen it before, it's wavering, and he knows what that means. He places his hand over hers, keeping it from moving, clutching it like a lifeline.

"There's no point," he says when she shoots him a questioning look. Her face hardens.

"I can heal you," she says frantically, trying to tug her hand out of his, but he doesn't let her. He likes how it feels, and he knows she can't save him now. Not this time.

"No. You can't," he says, doing his best to smile. He wishes he could thank her for everything— to tell her just how much she meant to him. She shakes her head, growing angry, and he already knows what she's going to say.

"Yes I—"

He kisses her, his heart soaring when their lips meet. She barely starts to kiss him back before he pulls away. It didn't last long, but it was enough.

He feels himself start to fade, and he works through the pain to tell her. He needs to tell her, but he doesn't know how. How does one tell another the true depths of one's feelings? Especially when you're about to die. What good would it really do? But, he needs to say something— something so she knows how much she meant to him, even if it can't encompass everything.

With the last of his strength, he looks into her golden eyes and says, "So stubborn… I always liked that about you."

Tears sting both their eyes, and he wishes he could've had more courage before— he wishes that they'd had more time. But this is all the time he's been given. He was never a lucky guy to begin with. He closes his eyes, ready to meet his end.

* * *

"Slow down, will ya? You've been drinking those like a drunkard downs his ale," Barbas says to Krosa, and Krosa finishes off the healing potion before placing it next to the two other empty bottles she just downed. After the battle, the local alchemist was happy to supply Krosa with as many potions as she wanted. "It won't heal you any faster. You'll just get sicker or have to pee all day."

"It's driving me crazy."

"What is?"

"The pain. I've never— I don't know how to make it go away." Barbas looks at her for a moment, ears drooping.

"It wasn't your fault," he says quietly, and Krosa wonders if he'd had to convince himself of that as well.

"It was."

"No. Think about it. That dragon would have been here regardless, but since you were—"

"He came back for me," Krosa says, wishing it weren't true. If he had only listened and gone to help the others, but no. He had to ensure that she was okay because she was stupid enough to forget that she didn't have a damned sword.

"He waited for you, you know," Barbas says after several minutes of silence. "He always thought you would come back soon, but you never did. You never even sent a letter."

"He—" Krosa feels her face go red, and she nearly doesn't continue. She hopes Barbas doesn't answer, but still she finds the need to ask, "He kissed me before he— I— and he said something— did he—" She can't bring herself to finish, it was a stupid question anyway.

"Yeah," Barbas says as if it pains him. "He never told me outright. Never trusted that I wouldn't spill the beans or needle him about it, but I knew— and don't deny that you didn't. You just didn't want to deal with it, and he knew that. That's why he never told you."

Krosa has nothing to say to that, she knows that it is true. It's part of the reason why she was so eager to leave and jumped on the chance when she received the Jarl's letter. If it weren't for that letter, she probably would have ended up leaving without a word of warning. Krosa hates herself more than ever.

"What are you going to do now?" Barbas asks, and Krosa knows that he wants her to stay. But she can't, and he knows that she can't.

"I'll go to High Hrothgar, I think, wherever that is."

"You do realize what time of year it is, right?" Krosa rolls her eyes. Even she would have a hard time not noticing the drop in temperature and the snow littering the landscape. "How stupid are you?"

"Stupid or not, it has to be done."

"Dragonborn or not, it's suicide. You should wait till after winter—"

Krosa shrugs. "I'll survive, I always do."

Barbas grumbles, but doesn't say anything else.

"What about you," she asks once she thinks it's safe to do so, "has Clavicus—"

"I don't care about him anymore. I'll be staying with the Fair-Helms now. Ida wouldn't have it any other way," Barbas states, itching his face with his paw as he does so.

Krosa never knew why he was so adamant about returning to a pompous ass like that, and is glad to hear of the change. It won't be the same as with Sinding, but at least he'll have someone. Krosa gets up to leave, wondering how to say goodbye. Barba helps her out. He was never great at it either.

"You should visit when you can, well, if you don't die while climbing that blasted mountain."

"I will," Krosa says, and they give one last look to each other before going their separate ways.

* * *

Krosa has never been colder in her life. It's been days since she started climbing. At first, it was like any other mountain; the skies were clear with occasional bursts of snow. The view from the steps was beautiful: it was as if she could see all of Skyrim below her. Then came the blizzard, and now all she can see is white— all she can feel is the screeching wind cutting into her skin. She keeps climbing. One foot after another. Another set of bones littering the way.

Fire sparks to life in her hands in another attempt to warm herself, but it's no use. Not in weather like this. She can feel the warmth within her— the heat of the dragons' souls. She's willing to bet that if it wasn't for that, she'd already be dead. But it's not enough to keep her skin from turning white or to keep her body from violently shivering.

Krosa can feel their suffering, and she wonders if they can feel what she does— knows what she's thinking— and wonders if she's stuck with them for the rest of her life. At least they're quiet now.

The Fair-Helms were sorry to see her go, Hilda in particular. This time, when Hilda tried to gift her with a doll, Krosa gently refused. She'd only lose it like the last one, or ruin it in some way. Peter gave her his sword from the war— that, she accepted. It saves her the effort of trying to steal one for herself. Ida made sure she had enough supplies, and they all gave her tips on how to survive a Skyrim winter on her own. Somehow, she's always on her own again.

As she climbs, she lets her mind wander— she thinks about everything, about all the what-ifs— anything to distract her from the storm. She wonders what would have happened if she had stayed in Falkreath so long ago, or returned to Cyrodiil, or never have escaped Hammerfell at all. What if she had given Sinding a chance, or what if Brynjolf hadn't betrayed her.

For once, she lets herself admit that she misses their company. Again, she has to admit that she no longer likes being alone. More than anything, she wishes she was warm again.

She doesn't know how long it's been, but eventually the storm ends.

And then she sees it. High Hrothgar. It takes her a while to realize it's not just another part of the mountain. She nearly collapses in relief, but fear of being buried in the snow keeps her upright. She moves quicker and starts pounding on the massive stone doors. They open after an eternity of waiting; then Krosa's face to face with an elderly man in dark robes, and she knows that this is where she's meant to be.

The End!

The next installment is up and it's called: An Epic for the Ages

Author's Note: This chapter was rough, and it also took a while cause I've been getting into drawing again, and have made a picture of Krosa! If you want to see it, it's on my instagram crazystoryspinner and is literally the only thing on there.

Please leave a review to tell me what you think of the chapter (or picture)!


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